Satin Hostage
by Lady Fyria
Summary: Serena is not particularly looking forward to her impending marriage, but when she is kidnapped and held for an unknown ransom by a handsome pirate, she finds herself hoping that her fiance will rescue her. However, her kidnapper doesn't seem to be the average pirate with dreams of gold and jewels. Confined to her room, Serena struggles to discover what the pirate really wants. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not claim this story as my own because it is not. It is, in fact, a story that had been posted on this site starting in 2009 and completed in early '11. The amazing author of this brilliant story, Mockingbird Julia, had decided to take it down for reasons not known to me and her account sadly no longer exists and therefore I do not have any way to communicate with her, but she had granted her readers permission to have their own copies. I found this yesterday, which so happened to be the anniversary of the day this lovely story was completed. I believed it was high time for Satin Hostage to take readers on its remarkable journey once more. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I did.**

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**Satin Hostage – Chapter One**

The Embrosse afternoon sun was warm on the courtyard's mosaic floor, bleaching the already dulled tiles to lighter hues of green, blue and orange. Willow trees fringing the gardens bowed in the soft breeze, bringing the scent of lilacs to servants beneath the arched pavilion. The laughter of half a dozen women drifted across the open expanse of yard to the moat.

The sound did not quite reach the man carefully observing the movements of one young woman in the courtyard.

Serena lounged on the estate's patio, watching the sun glint off the largest alabaster pool's aquamarine waters. The young Delucian native maid Viola braided the family's stone of carnelian into Serena's long blonde hair, a practice that made her mistress frown.

Not all Serena's grimace was for her hairstyle. Some she reserved for her secretly indifferent view of her impending marriage to the Embrosse-Cataduke continent's most prosperous heir, Zoicite Maeyen. The recent passing of her seventeenth birthday was the completion of her long engagement to him.

She was oblivious to the eyes that followed from a distance as she moved away from an older maid's reprimand of the Delucian girl.

"Leana," she called to the long-time servant, "leave Viola be. Take your old tongue into the house." She watched the discontented servant mutter and take her leave. Serena strolled through the fragrant garden, burying the carnelian weighted braids in her hair. Uncle Methuen's vast estate was secure with the moat completely circling the grand house and grounds. Her betrothal to Methuen's nephew Zoicite had made her accept as home the beautiful fortress-like palace, a striking combination of security and beauty.

In some ways her fiancé's country of Embrosse was easy in which to live. She loved its lush meadows and emerald frosts, but not the thundering rainstorm that left a new, wet world in its wake. Her homeland of Izramuth was mostly desert and she'd never seen rain until the voyage to Methuen's house.

The sun shone brightly off her hair as she removed her slippers and sat beside a small pool of exotic gold and purple fish. From afar she heard the growl of thunder, but the afternoon sky held no clouds. Sometimes storms swept in quickly from the sea half a day's ride west. Those were the worst storms.

The thunder grew louder as she felt it rumble in the ground. Voices within the house rose to shouts. She glanced at Viola standing at the patio, frowning as the servant girl called frantically to her in her native language.

Serena stood. Viola's eyes were wide and she was babbling something Serena could not understand. The Viola ran out of sight around the corner of the house.

A chorus of cries and screams from deep within the house prompted Serena to move. It was not the threat of rain she had heard, but the echo of horse hooves. At the end of the garden a horse and rider appeared. She looked there and the man spotted her immediately. With a whimper she darted across the garden into the maze of hedges. The man kicked the horse into motion behind her.

_Invasion?_ she thought, her mind racing as fast as her feet. _Who? How could it be?_

She hurried into the high sculpted bushes, hearing the thick footfalls of the horse in pursuit. For several long moments she lost the man in the hedges. She turned a corner and crouched in an alcove of greenery, stifling cries of her own as screams of agony and begs for mercy reached her ears from the house.

She slowly sunk back into the hedge, her breath stuck in her throat as she watched the man round the corner, searching the maze. With only a turn of his head she would be found. He was a tall man, strongly built, a cloth tied around his head to keep his dark hair back. He was no one she'd seen before, a fact that made her heart sink.

She pushed her back against the tight hedges, ignoring the barbs biting into her flesh, until her hand felt empty space beyond the outside bush wall. Just as she broke through it she saw the man halt the horse and turn.

Serena was fleeing across the sloping lawn when she heard the horse crash through the hedge and a grunt from behind her, but she didn't look back. The trample of hooves grew louder, quicker. Her bare feet raced toward the deep moat. Suddenly the hot breath of the horse passed over her neck and an arm swept her from the ground.

For a terrible moment she thought she'd slip under the horse's pounding hooves as the man abruptly turned the animal. He lifted her higher, his arm tight around her still as she struggled against him. His other hand pulled her knee over the horse's back. Despite her elbowing, squirming, and cursing she found herself sitting in front of him. She twisted futilely again until she saw the moat looming before them. She forgot to fight as thoughts of colliding with the opposite stony bank entered her mind. The horse wouldn't make it, even with only one rider. The animal was spurred faster.

The horse gathered for the mighty leap and they landed solidly on the other grassy side. Instead of turning in the direction of the trade road, the man behind her headed the horse west to the hills.

The horse's pace hadn't slackened, but the man relaxed his hold on her. She sensed this and threw her leg over the horse's neck. She swung down, but not off, and failed to dislodge the man as she had hoped. She hung there, suspended and flailing, as he reined in the horse. He hoisted her back onto the horse, which danced and snorted at the movement.

"You left none?" the man behind her said, but he was not speaking to her. Serena sat still as more horsemen surrounded them. Their clothes were bloodstained, armaments hanging at belts and baldrics. Unconsciously she cringed from their leers, her back pressing against her captor.

"None alive." It came from a wiry, stringy haired lanky man to her left. She returned a frown to his look of amusement.

"Good," the man behind her said.

They moved off again at a canter, a mild gait compared to the previous mad gallop. Serena made no further attempts to leave the horse, knowing she would be trampled in the crowd before even regaining her feet.

She decided the men were not soldiers, but they moved with a certain unity, as if taking silent commands from the man behind her. It took an hour to leave the Sol Min Valley and another to clear through the forest of phyllia trees. The little used road they came upon was disappointingly void of traffic. Her hopes of drawing attention to her situation vanished.

She heard many slants of the Embrosse dialect from the men in those hours, but no one spoke of who they were or where they were going. She did not attempt to speak to her captor, half sick at the attack and what her immediate future might be. Her fingers were laced in the horse's mane and she now unclenched them, leaving purple nail marks in her palms.

The man noticed this movement. He took her hand in his own, his thumb turning the carnelian and onyx signet ring she wore. She snatched her hand from him.

"You'd best cooperate," he told her, but showed no further interest in the ring. Her hold on the horse tightened again.

They reached a small village on the coast before dark. The villagers warily eyed the score of sweaty horses and riders as they arrived. The men continued through town and halted at the pair of docks on the Bellarth Ocean. The smell of the sea mingled with pineapples and it reminded Serena how far she was from home. She didn't recognize the red and black flag raised over the only ship docked. Nervously she glanced again at the men in her escort. _Pirates? On horseback?_

The man behind her dismounted and offered her his hand. She kicked at him, but he easily eluded her as the other men chuckled. She tried to swing off the opposite side of the horse, but he wrenched her off his side, fingers tight on her wrist.

"Sell all the horses but this one," he was saying to the man he had spoken to earlier. "Divide the money among the crew, and be back by morning."

"Aye, Captain."

Men and horses dispersed back into town and the man towed Serena up the dock to the ship. She halted halfway, legs braced staunchly on the rough wooden planks. He looked at her with irritation, making her cringe.

"If you insist on being dragged," he said wearily, "at least wait until we're on board. The dock's not planed and you'll get more slivers than it's worth."

She frowned, pulling from him in vain. "You don't know what you're doing! My fiancé will have you flogged to death. He'll hang all your crew. You'll never get away with this!"

"I trust not."

His hand on her wrist snapped her into motion again and she found herself approaching the gangplank extended from the ship. Her other hand fastened on the deck's rail, jerking him to a stop. This time when he turned he didn't bother to argue with her. In one movement she was slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Serena shrieked, arms waving, trying to reach the knife at his belt as they descended the short stair beneath the quarterdeck and entered the darkened cabin. He passed through the first section of this to a rear room, where he dumped her on the bed and abruptly left.

He was gone before she got to her feet. The door closed behind him, its lock rattling. She stood shakily in the dim, alien room, barely breathing. The only light came from a flickering oil lamp bolted above the small table against one wall. She went there instinctively, knocking her shin on a wooden chest at the end of the bed. She frantically unplugged the small cleat holding the lamp to the wall with trembling fingers. She turned up the wick.

The light shown brighter on the spacious room, and she was surprised to find it orderly and clean. The bed was centered against the aft wall, its tall dark wood posts carved with figures from Luresian legends. Besides the small table at the starboard wall was an armoire, upholstered bench, washstand and chinoiserie screen near the aft corner. She touched the satin black lacquered finish on the last item, then the enameled orchid design.

She went to the end of the bed and tested the lid on the chest to find it locked. Across it was a fireplace in the wall shared by the first room. Below the mantle a shadowed light seeped in through the grate. She crouched, giving the opening more attention and found that the fireplace serviced both rooms. It was large enough to crawl through, but the lowered grate barred any passage. She set the lamp on the hearth and tried to lift the metal piece, in vain, and decided it was locked into place from the other room.

On either side of the mantle were closets built into the wall, but all were locked. She investigated the armoire with the lamp, and to her surprise found a rack of dresses and other clothes in the drawers. The left door opened to reveal a floor length mirror, making her start to see her own reflection.

The uneasy feeling in her stomach now turned into a spasm. Quickly she closed the armoire. Why a woman's clothes? The fears she had fought on the long ride now threatened her senses, but she knew not give in to them. She went to the washstand where a comb and brush and two small clay jars lay.

Although they held a certain familiarity, she did not touch them. Desperately she tried to open the window above the bench. It held tight, as did the ones at the table and other wall.

The trembling in her stomach made her legs weak, but she refused to sit down. The portside wall was much like the one with the armoire with a free-standing closet and washstand, but here the detailing was decidedly more common. A third cupboard rattled, a metal clanking sound, when she shook its case, but would not open. Inside the second wardrobe were more clothes - a man's clothes, and on the washstand basin were a few short light hairs from a recent shave.

Now Serena did sit down, slowly, on the bed. This was no hasty raid on an unsuspecting household. This had been planned well in advance. They had left no one else alive, only her, and they had traveled inland half a day to get her. Horses had been used and were now being sold. Except for his. She also recalled that nothing had been carried off from the house - no plunder. The men that accompanied her captor had no spoils, and there had been plenty to pillage from the Maeyen estate.

She looked back to the washstand with the comb and brush. Maybe they had belonged to another woman. Maybe she was only one in a long line of captives brought here.

The door opened suddenly and he stepped in, making Serena yelp and jump to her feet. She dropped the lamp, spilling oil on her skirt and catching it on fire. She winced and flinched as the heat clung to her leg. He set his own lamp on the chest and ripped off the lit length of her hem, stepping on the flames.

"Sit down."

She increased the distance between them. "What are you going to do?"

"Sit down," he repeated more sharply.

She sat, biting her lip against the searing pain at her calf. She flinched from him when he reached for it. He threw her a dark look, and she resisted moving away when he took her bare foot. He examined the burns for a moment, and then retrieved a cork stopped jar from one of the locked cupboards. She watched him replace the key that hung from a chain at his neck. He handed her the jar.

"Caron oil. It'll take the sting away, and it won't scar."

She opened the jar, a strong almond smell coming from it. "We always use saffron."

"The caron is better." He collected the pieces of broken lamp and lit another candle lantern hanging from a ceiling beam.

She smoothed the oil on gingerly. Within seconds the pain had noticeably numbed.

He stripped off his headband and ran a hand through his dark hair, and she realized he was younger than she'd first thought. "When does your husband come back?"

"He's not my husband," she corrected. Lack of regret slipped into her tone.

"You're betrothed to him," he stated factually, his shadow falling over her. "What is it? A matter of months?"

She did not reply, but handed back the jar.

"When did he leave?"

"If you don't return me now, he'll have ten ships after you," she warned. "He has -"

"Eight ships," he told her, watching surprise slip over her face. "I sank two last month."

She studied him slowly, carefully, deciding she would not aid his cause with the slightest degree of help. Her chin tilted with distaste. "You're lying. You don't even know his name."

He put the jar on the washstand near the changing screen, watching her attention go to the door. "I sank the _Ten Bells_ and _Northern Hoshi_," he recalled levelly. "And your husband's name is Zoicite Maeyen, relation to the late Ros dem Methuen Maeyen."

"And who are you?"

"Darien Montaro, captain of the _Eliana Nor_."

Serena shied, her courage wavering. She had expected him to be much older to have accumulated so many stories of ruthless conquest off the colder, northern ocean seaboards. Yes, she'd heard stories of him, but was unsure how many were true. But if even half held any truth she would have been better off slain at the house.

"No," she murmured to herself. "Captain, he'll pay whatever you ask, Zoicite will. Please, let me -"

"I plan on returning you, Ros Dey Maeyen, but -"

"It's Bella Ver," she corrected stiffly, then chided herself at making the distinction against what would become her married title.

He smiled at the interruption. "Dey Serena Bella Ver," he said deliberately, "if you wish to return to the Sol Min Valley, you will have to do as I say." From outside someone shouted. He took a key from his pocket and turned to the door. "There are clothes in the closet."

She remained on the bed after he was gone, her mind as numb as the burns on her leg. The day was too much. She took a deep, shaky breath. She could think of many stories of him and his crew, none flattering. Most placed the _Eliana Nor_ in the brisk Northern Croa Sea around Nya Gakari and Mortania. He was easily seven or eight years her senior, not an age she thought a pirate captain to be. Perhaps some of the stories were confused with other pirates. She shook her head. It didn't matter.

He didn't plan to keep her. He was going to take her back. _Or, that's what he said,_ she thought without consolation.

But it could not be any time soon, or there would be no need for those, she reconsidered with a glance at the armoire and screen.

She went to the washstand and took the hairbrush, holding it up to the lantern. It was clean, new. She examined the dresses in the armoire again. They were skillfully made of fine gauze and silks and their seams showed no wear. Everything was new.

Perhaps he would return her tomorrow, after - _No_, Serena thought with determination. Surely he hadn't raided and slaughtered an entire household for what could be readily obtained in the village. She had seen plenty of women on the street as they rode through. Then it was money. Zoicite's family was one of the wealthiest in Embrosse and Cataduke.

Her eyes rested on the floor length curtain on the aft wall she hadn't seen earlier. She investigated this more and learned it partitioned off the water closet. This small room was provided with a tiny barred window and out it she could see only the darkening horizon. Another lamp was pegged to the wall here, its candle short and the wax melted into a puddle in the bottom of the thick glass of the lamp.

She didn't change her clothes, nor continue to search for a weapon. The cabin was shut up; Darien had anticipated her actions. A means of escape would have to come when the door or window was unlocked.

He returned shortly and with him came a young teen boy who placed a plate of food on the small table. She couldn't determine his nationality, and his wariness of her conveyed no empathy for her imprisonment. He looked with curiosity at her under Darien's watchful eye, but took his leave without speaking. Darien shut the door and gestured to the table.

"Eat. It's sausage and anise, Serena," he added when she made no move from the bed post.

"I'm not hungry."

He shrugged, taking a dark bottle from a locked cupboard near the mantle. He took a long drink, and then held it out to her. She shook her head, looking with disdain at the bottle.

"Please yourself," he said indifferently. He took another bottle from the shelf and put it by the plate. "Gooseberry wine from Delucian. It's not strong."

She held his stare as he lit another hanging lamp.

"When will Zoicite be back?"

She stalled answering for a long moment, unwilling to aid in her own tragedy. He was about to ask again she said: "I don't know."

"I believe you do."

She stood her ground when he stepped nearer. "Think what you like, Captain, but I do not know." She watched his hard blue eyes drop over her slowly, making her both angry and blush deeply.

"We'll have to send him something. To prove you're here."

She frowned at the smell of the whiskey on his breath. "He'll have you drawn and quartered if you touch me."

He nodded, setting the bottle on the table. "And well he should too. At the very least."

She stepped back as he took the long knife from his belt. She lunged as his hand grabbed her hair, and then moved to her neck as she struggled to pull away. Her fingernails dug into his arm as he brought her closer.

"Hold still, Serena," he said when she resisted. "I just want the braid." She tried to push from him as the hand on her neck slid down her back, anchoring her against him.

"You can't cut my hair," she said through gritted teeth.

"Would you prefer an ear?"

She felt a tug and saw a thin braid in his hand. He released her and she backed quickly away. "He'll kill you!" she bit out, touching her neck and glaring at him.

"If he doesn't cooperate, we'll send him a finger next time."

She looked at him in horror as he holstered the knife, the red carnelian beads still attached to the braid.

He glanced back at her, stepping closer as she retreated. "Do you have another braid?"

She stepped away. "You don't need two. One is -"

He reached to the other side of her head and found the braid. "Take it out."

She tried to pull the braid from him. "Why do -"

"Take it out or I'll cut it out!" he bellowed.

She withdrew as he relinquished the braid, surprised at the venom in his tone over mere beads. Her fingers nimbly removed the stones and plait, leaving the blonde hair crimped.

He held out his hand. She hesitantly gave him the beads. He stepped away, appraising the braid.

"You should change your clothes," he said with more temperance. He put the braid on the mantle and finished the bottle of whiskey, watching her smooth her hair with nervous fingers. "You smell like a lamp wick."

When he had moved to the far end of the room, Serena sat timidly at the table, her eyes following him as her stomach knotted. She looked at the plate before her when his back was turned. The aroma of the anise and meat stirred her growing appetite. It was a strangely appealing meal, uncommon to her normal diet. She took a small bite, and then sampled the spinach and noodles as her hunger flourished. She broke open the roll of black bread.

He opened the window by the door, admitting a warm breeze into the stuffy room. She felt it immediately and looked up from her plate to see him drop the carnelian beads out the window.

With the breeze came the smell of pineapple groves and sounds of village night activity. She looked longingly past him at the small lights from the homes in town, wondering when knight had fallen.

Her attention flicked to him. "Will you open them all?"

He shook his head, pulled off his shirt and tossed it on a wall hook. "Not tonight. How long will Zoicite be gone?"

She swallowed the sausage and looked at the bottle on the table, keeping him in her peripheral view. "Is there any water?"  
"Answer the question."

She ate in silence for a moment under his heavy scrutiny, making an effort not to look at him. He leaned against the window and crossed his arms.

"I told you already, Serena, how long you stay here depends partly on your participation."

She returned his attention and took a deep breath, consenting. A little cooperation may get her further than defiance. "He's been gone for almost a month. An Embrossen month," she added, figuring the difference between Embrosse's ten-day week and the seven-day week used by two other continents.

Darien nodded. "When is he to come back?"

"I told you already, I don't know." She saw that he did not believe her and her gaze went back to the plate. "I really don't know," she said tiredly.

Her eyes lifted as he went into the first room and returned with a jug of water that he set on the table, shaking his head when she withdrew.

"There's your water."

Serena poured her mug full after he'd gone back to the window. From the low-beamed ceiling he unlashed a hammock and tied it to a truss by the fireplace wall. It crossed the door effectively.

She watched this with a mixture of relief and hopefulness, her blue eyes resting on the small points of red her fingernails had left on his arm earlier. She finished eating and drank three cups of water before he extinguished both lights. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkened room. She heard the hammock creak under the beam.

In the scant light that fell from the clouded twin moons she could see him lying in the hammock. He stuffed a pillow behind him, watching her at the table. After a moment she went to the bed and sat at the head of it, drawing her knees close, and pulling at the top sheet. She could see his outline by the door.

"There are slips in the closet, and a pelisse," he said quietly as a bobwhite called through the still night.

She made no remark, curling against the headboard, watching him intently. Her back sagged at the black walnut wood, the mattress feeling especially comfortable despite the situation.

A soft breeze cooled the room slowly. Her thoughts turned to plans for escape, but sleep engulfed her within moments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Guest Reviewer: I suppose you didn't notice my authors note in the first chapter, but this story is not mine. If you're curious for a little more information on the origin of this story, please visit the first chapter again. Thanks!**

**I'm happy that you guys are glad I saved a copy of this story! I'm glad too.**

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**Satin Hostage – Chapter Two**

Serena awoke the next morning, unaware of her foreign surroundings until the smell of pineapples grew strong. She opened her eyes, unmoving, her first sight galvanizing her.

It all came back to her like a rushing torrent. The raid, the long ride, the ship. The burn on her leg was sore where it rested on the linen sheet, but she didn't move it. The window was still open and she thought Darien might close it if he knew she was awake.

She watched him shave at the washstand by the window. His black hair shone from the sea's relentless sun out the window, and his skin darker than most of the Randalian people she had seen. She knew he was Randalian, too, because she recognized his accent. He wore no shirt now and she could see darker lines lace his back. She watched the muscles tighten as he leaned over the basin, intent on the mirror. She wondered why he'd been lashed, and assumed there were many crimes from which to choose.

_How has he become my problem?_ She wondered. She consciously steered her thoughts from what she had heard of him.

"Change your dress today," he said suddenly, turning around and wiping his face with a cloth. "I'll not have you greeting your husband in a burnt rag."

Serena pulled the sheet higher around herself. He began to light the lantern and she sat up quickly.

"Please don't close the window," she asked of him, but he was already shaking his head.

"I'll leave it open when we sail." The shutter locked into place, muting sounds of the waking town.

"Sail?" she echoed. "When do we sail?"

"Tomorrow morning."

She flinched under his gaze that swept over her as he pulled on a shirt. "But Zoicite may not be back yet." Her fingers twisted the sheet in her grasp. "You said I could go back."

"You will. After Maeyen meets my demands." He rolled the hammock to the corner and tied it. "He can read, I presume."

She allowed a short laugh. "You can write?" His dark glare made her immediately sorry she had said it. "How much are you asking for me?"

He unlocked a case by his wardrobe and took out a cutlass and baldric. He slung the belt over his shoulder and looked her over thoroughly until the uneasiness leased her eyes. "How much are you worth?"

Her lips pursed into a pout. "Zoicite won't succumb to dealing with pirates."

"You better hope he does." He smiled in an uncharming manner. "Yesterday you said he'd pay whatever I asked. Now you tell me he won't negotiate with a pirate for his Izmaruthen bride. Are you worth less today?"

"I'm not Izmaruthen," she denied boldly despite the fears creeping through her.

"You're not entirely Embrossen, either." He adjusted the baldric buckle and holstered the cutlass, observing the contrast of white sheet against her lightly tanned skin. "You're Luresian or Izmaruthen too."

Serena sat back against the headboard, sheets pulled to her chest. "And you are Randalian."

He nodded and locked the case, looking at the form her legs made beneath the sheet. "How's your leg?"

"Fine."

"Put more oil on it."

Darien took the braid from the mantle and left, the door lock clicking locked behind him. She sighed in momentarily despair, and then pulled the sheet back to expose her leg. The burns were scabbed and dark, the largest about the size of an egg yolk. Her leg was not fine; it hurt. But it was not her biggest problem. They were sailing tomorrow.

She got out of bed, cursing the lantern's poor light. Already the room was warming and stuffy. _How had Zoicite garnered the pirate Montaro's attention?_ She asked herself. _What had he done to bring on such a raid? Or had he done anything at all? Was this how Darien operated, swooping down on helpless villas?_ She had never heard of it before.

She opened the armoire and appraised herself in the long mirror. He was right about the dress. It was torn and hanging at her calf, ripped in other places from the hedge barbs and spotted with lamp oil. With a guarded look toward the door, she poured water into the washbasin and scrubbed her face vigorously. She picked up one of the clay jars and lifted its cork, smelling the contents. She recognized it was a powdered soap Zoicite imported from Nya Gakari.

She frowned. Darien wasn't lying, not about the ships. The soap was to come in on the _Northern Hoshi_, due this month. The other jar contained sandalwood oil, which would have been on the _Ten Bells_ from the Delucian Islands. Darien had declared war on Zoicite, indeed.

From the armoire she took a deep amethyst dress. It was of finely woven gauze, but not thin enough to be transparent. She brought it, the basin, and soap behind the changing screen with her. When she emerged and stood before the mirror later she found her image more composed and presentable. The sweeping neckline gathered at her shoulders and fell gracefully into a full skirt accented by a black and gold embroidered belt. Already the room seemed cooler with the change of apparel.

Serena dabbed caron oil on the burns, savoring the relief. If she was going to escape it had to be before they sailed in the next morning. Maybe if he gained a little confidence in her he would lower his guard. She could take advantage of even a few moments.

She combed her hair thoroughly, pausing to marvel at the detail on the comb and brush. Both were of ivory and the brush was set with pink shell, onyx and jade. She wondered if they were from Delucian also.

A bowl of rice waited for her at the table. Rice had been a coveted treat in her father's house where it was rare in the dessert country. No amount of irrigation could provide adequate weed control for flooding rice fields in Izramuth. Even ships carrying it in from middle Luresia's coast often docked with puffed and rotting grains from damp voyages.

Her eyes wandered over the roomy bedchamber as she ate. Whatever it was now, the _Eliana Nor_ had once led a grander life, she guessed. The smooth dark panel-lined cupboards and closets showed little wear or repair and no ornamentation. It was not the quarters of a military or noble man, she determined, and certainly not royalty. Perhaps the _Nor_ had been the property of a wealthy merchant, a man more of comfort and necessity than showy extravagance. A good transport for a pirate seeking discretion to his vessel. The series of shutters and blinds that accompanied each window told her the _Nor_ was more prone to warm waters than the chill of the Northern Croa Sea's permanent autumn. This seemed in contrast to what Serena had heard of Captain Montaro's pirate ventures.

She ate most of the rice before realizing it was topped by not only honey but brandy as well. She felt the warmth start slowly in her and pushed the bowl away. So he wanted a docile captive. She went to the armoire and found the pearl-studded starched lace fan she had seen earlier and opened it wide, then looked purposefully over the room.

There had to be a way out and she had to find it before morning. After a few moments with the fan she tossed it on the bed. For a long while she reinvestigated every corner of the room, again tugging on the fireplace grate and checking the window locks.

As she passed his washstand she caught sight of herself in the mirror above it. She picked it off the wall. It was thin, easy to break, and would probably produce several sharp edges.

Serena carefully hung it back up. Surely Darien would notice the mirror's absence. She glanced at the mirror above her own washstand and came to the same conclusion. She looked about the room, the ebb of hopelessness increasing as the morning slowly passed. She tried all the drawers and closets again, hoping to find something, anything, to use as a weapon. But the fireplace was devoid of irons and there was not so much as a stylus to serve as a knife.

Serena sat on the chest, staring vacantly at the hearth, fanning herself. Her only companion was a moth caught in the room, flittering around the lantern at the ceiling. She looked up at it, thinking to smack it to a quick death, but refrained. No doubt the light would break and set the room on fire.

A new thought brought her to her feet. Yes, Darien would be suspicious of a dark room. She listened, but heard no other sounds on the ship. In the water closet she inspected the globe on the small lamp cleated to the wall. It was of thicker glass than the lamp she had dropped yesterday.

_He wouldn't notice this one,_ she thought, taking it into the bedroom. If Darien had gone to confront Zoicite he wouldn't be back until late. It had taken nearly half the day just to reach the port yesterday. The water closet lamp hadn't been lit last night, and the candle in it showed little use.

She wrapped it in a corner of the bed sheet and crashed it against the bed post. The result was two large pieces and three smaller, useless ones. The two she put under her pillow, undecided how to use them yet. The other three she buried in her old torn dress and tucked it in the armoire.

Serena took a deep breath, confident she had succeeded in at least finding a weapon. Now she wondered how she would use it, and if an opportunity would present itself before morning. The comfort of making the crude weapon faded as she realized she was far from free. And home.

She reached beneath the pillow and looked at the two pieces of glass, comparing their razor sharp edges and angles. As a precaution, she ripped a length of material from her old burnt dress and wrapped it testily around her hand, pleased with its thickness. She put the glass and material back under the pillow, and sat against the headboard.

Darien returned early that evening, waking Serena with a creak of the door. He opened the window just as the night before, commenting on the room's heat.

"Did you see Zoicite?" she asked anxiously. She slipped her hand beneath the pillow and felt the wrapped lumps there. "Is he back?"

"No." He lit an oil lamp at the table and replaced the lantern's short, meekly burning candle. "Where did he go, Serena?"

She licked her dry lips, recalling her effort at cooperation. She decided to answer would not further her predicament. "He went to look at a horse from Mortania."

"Did he go to Mortania?" he asked sharply.

"No. Just the border."

He nodded, rummaging through a cupboard at the fireplace wall. He set two bottles on the table. "You don't like wine?"

"I don't want any."

She sat at the bed edge, wishing he would open the starboard window nearest the bed. She heard someone call from outside the office stair door and Darien went into the other room, reappearing with the boy who had brought her supper the night before. This time, the boy whom Darien called Brons, set the table with plates and several dishes before leaving.

Darien pulled out a chair and opened the window above the table.

"Sit down," he said with a nod.

Serena slowly took a deep breath, hesitating. Cooperation was proving more difficult than she anticipated. She sat at the chair he held and he took the seat across the table from her. She looked at the white fish on her plate, realizing she hadn't eaten since that morning. The cool air from the windows allowed a welcome breeze carrying the scent of pineapples and pomegranate.

"The soap powder and sandalwood oil are from Zoicite's ships," she blurted, trying to check her agitation. "Why are you attacking him? He's done nothing to you."

"That discussion is not for tonight," he said lowly and continued eating.

She didn't voice the remark that came to her mind. She tasted the fish, frowning in frustration. "You should take me back now," she said steadily. "Zoicite is well connected with King Thulgarde, and he won't tolerate your effrontery."

Darien shook his head and kept eating.

She watched him with puzzlement. "You're a pirate, in Embrossen waters," she said. "There are numerous warrants and rewards for you all along the coast, and -"

"A fact King Thulgarde will dismiss for my loyalty to him," he explained, pouring a gold liquid into her pewter goblet.

"What loyalty?" she scoffed. "He isn't your king. This isn't your country."

"Nor yours."

"It will be soon," she pointed out. She ate for a moment, confusion increasing. "Why should he forgive your crimes?"

He took a long drink from the dark bottle, enjoying her simmer, and broke off more of the twisted, seeded bread. "I sailed for him in the war against Jorz Baed."

Serena's mouth dropped in disbelief. She snapped it shut with a sniff, assessing him anew. He watched her shake her head, lamplight dancing gold through her hair.

"You were never in his service. You're no naval hero."

He laughed, not the reaction she expected. "You don't think your dear King Thulgarde would resort to privateers during war time? I admire your unquestioning patriotism, Serena."

"I don't believe you," she murmured.

"You don't have to." He shrugged. "King Thulgarde will blink if Zoicite approaches him with your situation. He will not aid him. I daresay your affianced husband would even attempt taking this matter to the court. He has too much to lose. And I'm not talking about you," he added bitterly.

His words alone held meaning, but the cold tone he used weakened Serena's courage. Her eyes dropped to her plate, fuming as she considered what he had said about his service to her king.

"You're going to sink all Zoicite's ships."

"All I come upon."

"You can't do more to him," she debated. "You've slaughtered his household and plan to take his ships. What has he done to you?"

Darien stopped eating and glared at her until she squirmed. "I said that subject is closed for the night," he repeated with restraint.

She nodded without speaking, trying to eat the fish that no longer held any appeal. Under his stare she sipped the sherry, but didn't finish it.

After the meal Darien shut the window by the table despite Serena's pleas to leave it open. She was aware of him taking a bottle of brandy from the cupboard and pulling the cork, of the cabin boy Brons collecting the dishes from the table and the hammock being unrolled as she busied herself with the caron oil. She rested her heel on the bed, her cheek against the knee, touching the burns as they numbed.

There was only one way to use the pieces of glass, she'd decided. She glimpsed the bottle Darien drank from when he wasn't watching her. She turned back to the burns, hoping the brandy was very strong and that he would drink much.

Neither piece of glass was long enough to effectively stab, but one had a good cutting edge. She had never entertained the thought of slitting a throat and did not relish doing so now. She wasn't sure she could.

Serena was aware of one thing, however. Once she started, she could not hesitate. If she tried and failed - and if he lived - she would not have to worry about going home again. He would kill her tonight, perhaps among other things.

"Are you changing for the night?" Darien asked from the armoire.

She looked up quickly, her thoughts scattering. "No."

He paused at the light as she dropped her leg from the bed and pulled down the sheets, for a long moment his eyes moving over the form her body made beneath the linens. She pulled the sheets closer at his attention in spite of the rising humidity, and then sighed as the light was put out.

When Darien awoke in the thick night a short time later it was to a soft hand over his mouth and a cold sharpness at his throat. Instinctively his hand grabbed the one at his throat and within seconds he was on his feet. He caught Serena as she turned away, his grip on her wrist tightening as his arms engulfed her. She struggled in his embrace, but refused to relinquish the glass.

"Drop it," he said in her ear from behind her.

In response she twisted even more, clenching her teeth against defeat. The arm surrounding her subdued her fight and his fingers closed around the glass, ripping it away.

A cry escaped her it its release. He dragged her to the table and lit a lamp. She felt a small sense of triumph when she saw a timid trickle of blood at his neck and more on his hand. He put the glass on the table, his hand still firm on her wrist. He unwrapped the torn dress wound about her palm, reddened with his blood.

"Where is the rest?" he demanded.

She only stared at him in defiance. Both his hands went to her shoulders and he shook her.

"Where's the rest!"

Serena turned her face, expecting a strike. None came. She chanced to look up. He was studying the glass, recognizing it. He looked to the water closet, then around the room at the lights and mirrors.

His full attention fell on her again. "All right, Serena Bella Ver," he said tightly. "You've made your decision."

She shrieked when he pushed her to the bed and tied one hand with the torn material.

"I'll tell you," she said hastily.

"Too late."

He looped the material around the post at the headboard and tied her other hand, making her sit awkwardly on the bed.

"Lay down!"

"No!"

She moved as far from him on the bed as the short tether allowed, crouching. She held her breath in fear as he stood at the bedside. He leaned down and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her face close to his own.

"Where is the rest?"

Serena looked to each of his dark eyes and said: "Under the pillow, and, and in the closet, in the dress."

He let her go and found the piece under the pillow. She recoiled when he jerked the sheet over her and turned to the armoire.

At the table Darien fitted the pieces of lamp back together, satisfied they were all present. A moment later Serena heard him pour water in his washbasin, followed by a low cursing. She could not see much with the limited movement the bonds allowed, nor did she care to look. If he was going to kill her she would find out soon enough.

A moment later the lamp went out, and darkness swallowed the room. She breathed easier until realizing he now stood by the bedside. He tested the tether at her hands.

"You should have been quicker, Serena," he said without emotion. "You won't get another chance."

She remained silent as he moved away. He was right. There wouldn't be another opportunity like tonight. The allowances she had would be gone tomorrow. She heard the groan of the hammock, and buried her face in her pillow as the tears fell uncontrolled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Three**

Serena awoke the next morning to her arms being moved without her will. An aching pain consumed them, her hands cold and numb. She tried to pull them away, opening her eyes slowly, but Darien sat on the bed to finish untying the bond.

"Foolish girl," he muttered, tossing off the worn material and rubbing her wrists.

"Don't, don't touch them." She gritted her teeth against the straining throb echoing up her shoulders. He bent her stiff fingers as she suppressed curses.

"Keep moving them," he told her.

She took her hands away. They were heavy and tingling as circulation returned. He stood and opened the window by her washstand and then the other three. At the sight of the clear blue sky outside Serena's hands stilled. She inhaled the new air that glazed warmly over the room. Beneath her the ship swayed gently, making her catch her breath.

She went to the window, forgetting her aching arms for the moment. The azure waters dipped and rippled beneath the wooden hull and seagulls called through the air. She looked to Darien.

"We sailed this morning," he said before she could speak.

"What about the ransom?" she asked. "Have you heard from Zoicite?

"No. We're only going a few days up the coast." He strapped a brass main gauche to his belt and opened the door as Brons knocked. In silence the boy put a bowl of rice and pineapple on the table and left.

"When are we going back?" She rubbed her arms as the blood coursed faster through them.

"We aren't. Your husband is to meet us farther up the coast."

He looked out her window for a moment, and then took one of her hands, which she clenched. He pried open her fingers and inspected the palm, but found not even a scratch from her attack with the glass.

"You're clever, Serena. You planned last night all day yesterday." He dropped her hand and his eyes were unreadable. "I can promise you this: if you get past me you'll have to contend with the crew on your own, and they'll have no mercy on you or respect for your chastity. Keep that in mind next time."

Serena blanketed the fear his words stirred in her, and did not turn around as Darien left the room. Had she escaped last night she could have lost herself in town, she rationalized. At sea it was different; there was no place to go, nowhere to hide. To escape from the room would only put her in the midst of the crew, and she did not want that.

She sullenly ate breakfast. By the time she had finished her spirits were lifted, and she knew it was because of the breeze that rode in through the windows. She exchanged her dress for another from the armoire. She smoothed the rich teal folds, also of gauze, wondering about her abduction from another angle.

_How did he know to take me?_ She wondered. She had many servants, and some of her maids she considered companions rather than staff. He would have had to watch the house, or had it watched for him.

Serena frowned, the familiar resentment rising inside her. All her household, many she had known since coming to Embrosse, massacred for a cutthroat's whim. But he hadn't laid a hand on her, not as he might have, even after she tried to kill him.

_I wasn't a terrible threat anyway,_ she thought with a sigh. The small cut at his throat looked more like a barber's mistake than a desperate attack.

She didn't know why she had failed last night. Her aim had been true; she had been quiet. _He awoke too easily,_ she consoled herself, sitting at the upholstered bench and gazing out the window. There had been no hesitation, no moral consideration when she crept up to him in the dark. She had overestimated the brandy with him. He was not drunk or even near drunk. She would remember that for the future.

_Perhaps Zoicite is on his way to meet the ship now_, she thought hopefully. She'd been honest when she told Darien she didn't know when Zoicite would be home. It would be soon, she knew, for the wedding was in just over a week. Twelve days. Zoicite would most likely be home to oversee household matters and greet the guests. Invitations had been sent long ago. Even King Thulgarde was to attend the ceremony.

She blanched at the thought of the scene her home would present to the guests. No one had survived the attack of Darien's men. The lawn would be strewn with bodies left for days in the unclouded sun. The same sight would greet Zoicite.

Her shoulders sagged at the imagery, a movement that caused her to moan aloud when a fleeting pain shot through them. _Zoicite will pay the ransom_, she told herself in relief. Whatever Darien demanded for her safe return Zoicite would give without complaint.

She leaned against the wall, watching the water cap with white in the distance. Even so it might mean spending up to a week on the _Nor_, depending on how far up the coast Darien took them.

"Do you want to come up on deck for a while?"

She started at Darien's voice. She looked to him in the doorway to the office. "I can?"

"If you like, and behave yourself," he added. His eyes traveled over the dress she wore, pausing where the sun stretched warm on her lightly tanned skin. "Bring your wrap."

This time Serena did take Darien's hand when he offered it was they climbed the half flight of stairs to the main deck. She was met by both overt glances and oblique curiosity as she stepped quickly through the crew to the starboard rail.

"Keep out of the way," Darien was saying as the crewmen turned back to their own interests. "And stay in sight."

She nodded, feeling strangely forlorn when he left. Some of the crew's attentions returned to her and under their observation she looked back out over the sea. A flat piece of land was slowly fading smaller on the horizon.

The light breeze swayed her vivid skirts, making her pull the periwinkle shawl closer, gently lifting her loose blonde over her shoulders. Its crystal beaded fringe waved in the sea air, catching glints in the sun. After an uneasy day of hibernation in the bedroom, standing at the rail seemed a privilege. Their house in the Sol Min Valley was very open and the confinement of the locked cabin was unbearable.

With a timid scrutiny of the crew Serena located Darien speaking with two other men. He had said she need only stay in sight, not specifically at the rail. She followed it to the rear of the ship where the quarterdeck rose over the cabin and let her eyes fall over the main deck.

It was not a Randalian manned ship, not exclusively. The man mending a sail was either Dembian or Oquin; she could never tell the dark-skinned northern Mortanian mountain peoples apart. Another man sitting on a stack of thick coiled rope idly whittling was Luresian, she determined by his accent. He was laughing and cursing with the man Serena remembered from the raid. The second man's lanky build was not hidden by a shirt now, and he wore part of a Tiil flag around his dark, limp hair. His eyes darted to her and she immediately looked away, disliking his smirk. Her guess was that he was the first mate Darien referred to as Lucas.

She watched two Delucian men angling a net over the side of the ship for a moment. They reminded her of the native maid Viola, and the girl's terrified face flashed through Serena's mind. Her eyes sought the waves again, her fingernails sinking deep into the faded gold paint on the rail. Darien's was the greediest and most cowardly method of choking money from a rich man.

The morning passed quickly for Serena, a pleasant contrast to the previous day. Her venture on to the deck was an unexpected freedom after the glass incident, and it gave her a sense of hopefulness. Maybe she had made some progress despite the clumsy attack.

She ate alone in the bedroom late that afternoon with an appetite she had lacked the previous day. With the meal finished, however, she faced boredom. Darien was still on deck, and she grew weary of looking out the bench window. Even the sky was darkening too early to be evening.

She sighed, speaking to no one, her query from utter boredom. "What does one do to pass the time on a ship?"

On impulse she checked the cabinet and closet locks again, and then looked to the door. There had been no click of the key this when he had left. The latch turned easily and she opened the door slowly. Without pausing in the empty room, Serena went to the stair door and found it locked. She turned back to the office with a short sigh. Well, at least he hadn't locked her in just the bedroom this time. It was not a mistake; he had left the bedroom door open intentionally. She presumed this gave her permission to wander.

The fireplace on this side was much like it was in the bedchamber, except she found the grate lock in the gray stone siding. It was unlocked, she noted. A free-standing case was against the mantle wall near the bedroom door and its metal contents clanked when she tried to turn the latch.

There was a log cradle, but it was empty also on this side and she figured the _Eliana Nor_ had been in southern waters for quite a while. The far corner of the fireplace was met by a large walnut desk, carved, but not like the bedposts. Here the detailing was fine and at the corners inlaid with an intarsia of different obsidians polished smooth. Against the starboard wall was a chest-on-chest and bookcase, the latter with a matching inlay of the desk. They had once been a handsome set of rooms that had not suffered too badly under their present master, she decided in fairness. She wondered at the fate of the previous owner.

"Very fancy for a pirate," she mused aloud, sighing. "I wonder if he bought it or simply commandeered it."

Across from the fireplace was a heavy table with six chairs and beyond that a wall lined with more built-in closets. These Serena also found locked. The view out the windows was only of water, as in the bedroom, and the land they had departed was now beyond the horizon. At least here she could hear more sounds of activity from the deck.

The room darkened momentarily, bringing her to the window behind the desk. The sky was hazing over, the sunlight only intermittent now. A flicker of the keep-candle caught her eye from beside the desk, but she did not light the hanging lamp.

With a curious glance at the door she tried the drawers at the desk and discovered them locked, as she expected. She looked to the bookshelf, amazed at the number of books. The top shelf held catalogs of charts and maps, and below it were leather volumes of what she recognized as Randalian print. She knew it was Randalian because her first governess had been from that country. Education among women was not popular in Izramuth, but Serena's father was resolute in his daughters' studies. He had insisted on a Randalian tutor, too, because of their marked reputations. But Serena and her younger sister Mina had not been taught to read Randalian. Their studies had been in Izmaruthen and Embrossen.

The third shelf held scrolls, most of parchment, which yielded maps when unrolled. She put these back and crouched to the bottom shelf. A dusty row of chapbooks had become victim to mice, but it was mostly superficial damage. She took one out, blowing a thin cloud of dust from the cover. Carefully she opened it, surprised to find it contained sonnets. She eagerly took out another of short prose, and then jumped as the stair door latch turned and Darien appeared.

"Found your way out, I see," he said as she knelt at the case.

_He doesn't look upset_, she thought. "The door was unlocked."

He nodded, shutting but not locking the door. "Break any lamps today I should know about?"

"No." She scowled at him, rising. She realized how dark the room had become when he lit a lamp at the desk.

"What did you find?" When she stared at him in puzzlement he gestured to the books. "Those aren't navigating charts."

Serena looked down at the chapbooks. "No. They're verses."

He took the one of poems from her and looked at the cover, nodding in recognition. "Those came off a Luresian vessel a few years ago."

"And you kept them?" Her voice held a lilt he did not like.

"Of course. Would you have burned them? The Izmaruthen are notorious for their lack of academics," he commented dryly, handing the book back. "These are Luresian. Can you read them?"

"For the most part," she said. "Luresian is much like Izmaruthen."

He took a bottle from one of the built-in cabinets, and then a second, returning her careful attention. He sat on the edge of the desk, nodding to her. "Read something."

A short laugh escaped her. "No."

"You can't read." He took a long drink from the darker bottle. "I didn't think so."

"I can, but . . . these are not verses to read aloud," she said haltingly. His outright stare made her conscious of the room's warmth. She held the books closer.

"Your husband taught you to read?"

"No. My governess."

"In Izramuth?"

She nodded. Darien set the bottle down and stood up, watching her flinch slightly.

"My quarrel is with your husband, Serena, not you. Your capture is necessary to serve my purpose," he told her levelly. He walked around her, admiring the shimmer of light off her hair, the soft smell pervading her. "You will be on the _Nor_ for only a short time."

She refused to turn as he circled her. "How much is my ransom?"

"It's not a matter of how much." He stood before her, amusement evident in his eyes. "It's best you remain ignorant of that detail. It would mar your view of your husband. Let him tell you."

She frowned at the elusive answer. "How much?"

He studied her eyes, deciding they were a color between deep sapphire and lapis lazuli. "Not money."

"What else is there? Carnelian? If you won't let a few beads of it remain I can hardly imagine a hold full. Copper? You could get that right off his ships. You wouldn't need me here," she reasoned, lifting an eyebrow. "Or is this a new form of piracy? The abduction of promised wives?"

He laughed, raising a blush to her cheeks. "It is not my habit to steal helpless women to demand ransom, but what I require from Maeyen calls for a high risk and a certain delicacy." He took the bottle from the desk. "What could he hold in higher esteem than his tender wife?"

She wanted to dissolve the smugness in his smile. "Perhaps you overestimate Zoicite's loyalty to me, Captain."

His smile took a sharp twist. "If I do, you have a lot to lose, Serena."

She didn't like the results of her ploy. "He'll pay you. Whatever you ask."

His smile deepened as he offered her the second bottle from the desk. She shook her head. "You're a cold firefly, Ros Dai Maeyen," he said. "Watch that your light doesn't go out."

"I am not a fly," Serena snapped, again irked by the use of the title. She set the books beside him on the desk and went into the other room. It was nearly dark now and a light rain fell outside. Lamplight from the office streamed in through the fireplace opening as she sat on the bench.

She looked out the window at the sea jumping with raindrops. She sighed, wondering what her ransom could be, if not money.

The next day was bright and hot, devoid of even a wispy cloud in the wide skies. The _Eliana Nor_ rolled lazily on the cobalt waters a day and a half from the coast, a choice distance to pick passing vessels.

Serena spent the morning and afternoon on deck where a faint breeze stirred pirates and woman alike. She sat on a crate, her back against a barrel, watching the blue waters swell slowly to the side of the hull. Among the flap of slack sails she heard the men talking, but made no effort to understand their conversation. She did know, however, that their progress was slow for lack of wind, and she wondered how it would affect their rendezvous with Zoicite.

The wind picked up early that evening, but to Serena's dismay it also brought a storm. It was a warm, humid rain with only occasional bouts of wind and thunder, but even so she cringed with every crash. She sat at the bench in the bedchamber, pulling the lilac lace pelisse around her shoulders nervously, listening to the rain slap at the closed shutters by the armoire.

"Are you cold?" Darien asked.

She looked to where he sat at the table looking over a navigating chart. "No." Her eyes flicked to a shutter that moved under the wind's force.

"How long have you been in the valley?"

She made an effort not to bit her tongue as a peal of thunder ripped over the ship. "About six years."

His face registered surprise. "And you still wince at the rain?"

"It's not the rain," she said stiffly, watching him roll the chart.

"Serena, if I were of a mind to harm you, that pout would not deter me," he said with an easy grin. "Come sit over here. I'm not going to attack you."

She considered keeping her seat only momentarily; the noise of the storm had eaten her lagging courage for what she was beginning to think was needless resistance. He hadn't even bothered to tie her hands to the bedpost last night.

Darien tied the cord around the rolled chart as she took the chair across the table. "You had to come by ship from Izramuth. You didn't have any storms on the voyage?"

"Yes, but I didn't like them then, either."

He nodded, his eyes going over her pensive expression. "When is your wedding?"

She couldn't hide the pout that pulled at her lips. "In about a week."

A pleased smile crossed his face. "Then Maeyen will be anxious for your return."

"What are you demanding for me?"

Darien's smile dropped to be replaced by a threatening look. "I don't think you'll enjoy the answer, Serena. I advise you to curb your curiosity on the matter." He retrieved a bottle from a nearby cupboard and poured two ivory cups full, pushing one to her. "It's only wine."

Serena's eyes rested momentarily on the cup, and then returned to him. "Zoicite is an honest, upright man. He's the youngest ever to sit on King Thulgarde's council. You can't sully him."

He shook his head with a grin. The spirit she brought to the ship surprised him, for a gentlewoman. He wondered how long it would last. The glass episode had also shown an unexpected side to her. "You know little about your future husband if you believe that, Serena. Perhaps it's best you keep that image intact."

A mixture of pride and inquisitiveness made her persist. "And you know him better than I? What's your grudge with Zoicite?" Her eyes went to one of the scars that crossed over his shoulder near the collar of his shirt. She had seen other evidence of floggings that night when he changed his shirt that had gotten drenched in the rain. "Did he turn you in at some time?"

"No, nothing so petty as that," he admitted.

The night was too warm already, and the simple pelisse she wore seemed too much to wear over the night slip, but out of modesty she left it on. She had ventured to change into the pale lilac slip when darkness fell. It was sleeveless and cool, but she donned the lace pelisse when she heard Darien enter the office earlier.

Even so his eyes seemed to see through the lace. She returned his rapt attention. "Did one of his ships escape your attack?"

He suddenly stood up and went to the trunk by the end of the bed. "Do you play Bull and Lion?"

She frowned as he brought a two-colored marble board to the table. "The game?"

"You've heard of it, surely. It is from Izramuth," he added, setting a pouch on the table and turning up the candle lamp. "Do you play?"

She nodded. "But not well."

"Zoicite doesn't let you win."

"We seldom play." She watched with growing interest as he took out the playing pieces. She had played the game since childhood, but her father's game had consisted of quartz pieces, unlike the figures Darien presented. "He travels a lot."

"He leaves you alone too much."

"He'll be home more after we're married," she said in defense.

"I'll bet he will."

Her pout returned with irritation. Her fingers toyed with one of the miniature animals carved of stone. It was a bird of bright blue and white sodalite. Game pieces amounted on the board in various stones. She identified the turtle of black and white obsidian, a malachite frog, a horse of gray veined howlite and bull and lion of lead colored hematite, among others.

"You begin."

Serena made her first more. "You could at least tell me your demands."

"You wouldn't believe me."

She watched him make his move and then played her champagne quartz jackal. "I've never seen game pieces like these before."

"Most are onyx. I suppose yours are carnelian." Darien made his move and took her coral bird off the board.

"Yes." She studied the board for a long moment, listening to the rain falling on the sea. It was a gentler sound now. "Why did you make me take the carnelian out of my hair?"

"I don't like carnelian," he said without hesitation, watching her eyes linger on several of the game pieces. He finished his wine. "Besides, it looks wrong on you."

She moved the green frog. "Our mines produce the best carnelian on the continent."

"It's an ugly rock."

"It brings high prices," she countered, tasting the wine. Her gaze settled on the board where she had three pieces of various jaspers in strong positions. "You're trapped. You can't make a move without weakening your guard."

He shook his head, refilling his cup. "How much was your dowry?"

She frowned at the odd question. Her scowl increased as his jet owl slipped past her trap. "I had no dowry."

His attention left the game, studying her. "You came all the way from Izramuth with no dowry?" He leaned forward, estimating the honesty in her face. "It was an _arranged_ marriage?"

She returned his stare. "Yes."

"Arranged marriages are not common in Embrosse, and even the Izmaruthen are discontinuing the practice." He moved a piece absently, an intense frown covering his face. "What did your father owe the Maeyen family that he would sell you in-"

"I was not sold, Captain. And I don't see how an arranged marriage is any of your business," she added coolly. Her eyes swept over the board.

"As long as you're aboard my ship it is very much my business," he said, watching her make a move.

Serena sighed shallowly, recalling her decision at cooperation. She was anxious to create a common ground between them that she could possibly use to her advantage, but not at the expense of her privacy. "My father came from Embrosse, and since Maeyens customarily marry Izmaruthen, Uncle Methuen thought it appropriate. He and my father were at academy together, and they promised a betrothal then."

"Zoicite isn't Methuen's son."

"No. He had no children, but he took Zoicite, his nephew, as heir when Zoicite's father died. Zoicite was only a boy then, and the agreement with my father was settled." She made a careless move and regretted it immediately as Darien advanced on her bull.

He sat back, observing her slow consideration of the game, troubled eyes as she looked over her pieces on the board. The broken glass lamp incident came to mind again. He had expected a bit less aggression from the wife of a gentleman, especially one as young as she. In a way her resourcefulness amused him. Had amused Lucas, too, when he had heard of the encounter. He wondered if Zoicite Maeyen was prepared for the spirit she possessed.

"Is your husband fond of you?"

Her eyes shot from the board to him. "The marriage has been arranged. Zoicite's affection is no more a concern than is mine."

"You may say that easily enough now, Serena," he said, noting her agitation, "but it does have a bearing. Don't tell me you wouldn't rather marry a man you loved."

She laughed nervously, waiting for him to play. "Love isn't a prerequisite for marriage, Captain. Marriages based on a passing fancy or likable face or a pretty smile does not guarantee a wise choice."

"Oh, you're right," he admitted. "Much better to write it in ink, before the children are born, and seal it in wax. Tell me, if the sun melts the wax on a hot day, does the marriage dissolve?"

A roll of thunder sounded, but it was fainter with distance. Serena did not answer, awaiting his move.

"Don't tell me you never wished you had chosen your husband."

"Never."

"So you don't need that kind of marriage." His eyes arrested hers when she looked up from the game. He couldn't quite read what they held. "You're content to let your imagination create your leisure. You'll go to your husband's bed out of duty, and take a lover in quiet. Or have you already chosen one?"

"I have not," she said pointedly. "And I have no intention of doing so."

"I hardly think a woman in your position consciously decides to solicit a lover," he said off-handedly.

This verbal invasion was enough. Serena turned the bull on its side. "You win, Captain." She started to stand up, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Sit down and play."

"I don't care to discuss my marriage bed with you!" she bit out, an anger flashing in her eyes he hadn't seen before.

"Sit down," he repeated. "We'll talk of something else."

She sat slowly, touching her wrist where his fingers had irritated bruises from her attack with the glass. The room was suddenly overbearingly warm and Darien felt it too. He opened the window over the table. The wind had abated to a mere breeze and the rain was now a mist.

"Is Zoicite eager for the marriage?"

"You said we could talk of something else," she reminded, wishing for the fan, but refusing to find it from the armoire.

"We are. Now we're talking about your ransom." He watched her turtle take his jackal. "This is not idle curiosity, Serena. How is it between you and your husband?"

"Tell me my ransom first," she requested.

He considered this, and then decided against it. "If I put a price on your life, would he pay it?"

"Of course he would."

They played in silence for a moment. Serena was losing and she knew it. Her ransom was more than a simple curiosity to her, too, and she resolved to answer none of his questions until he told her. His hematite lion was directly across from her bull and she knew it was only a matter of a few moves before he won.

"Does he have a mistress?"

She scowled at the question. "I doubt I'd know if he did." _Well, it wasn't exactly an answer,_ she reasoned. The board was disappointing from her view.

"If you win, I'll tell you the ransom," he said, pouring himself more wine and topping off her cup.

She shook her head, eyes frowning over the board. "You know I can't win."

"You can."

She searched the board carefully for a long moment. "I don't see how." She moved a jade fish and he took her bull. "I couldn't have won."

He nodded, turning the board so she saw it from his angle. "The jasper camel."

"Oh," she said slowly, looking at the obvious move. "I didn't see that."

Lucas knocked and called from the outside door and Darien dismissed himself. Serena felt a heavy relief when he was gone. She didn't like the course of the conversation during the game. It brought back too many uncomfortable feelings to mind, feelings she had spent years carefully burying. She was lost in those memories when Darien stepped in briefly to say he was locking both doors.

She bagged the game pieces and turned down the lamp light, her efforts to drive the thoughts from her mind failing. She removed the pelisse and smoothed the lilac slip, appreciating its coolness. She fingered the dark green embroidery at the neckline. It was of Izmaruthen silk, but the style was unfamiliar. Of course, the fashions would be different than when she had left her homeland. A latent twinge of homesickness welled in her.

There had been too few letters from her mother the past six years. Much had happened since she had left. Mina had been engaged to a port merchant's son, a match of her choosing. How different it was for her younger sister.

_Darien should have stolen Mina,_ Serena thought sourly as she turned the lamp lower and crawled into bed. She sunk deep into the mattress, admitting that it was indeed a fine bed, particularly for a pirate.

Mina had always been adventurous, and hopelessly romantic, even for her young age. When they were children Mina would watch the servant-carried litters of the wealthiest women borne through the streets of her home town of Jayle-len, gold fillets holding their plaited hair, jewels hung from ears and throats. Mina had a story for each one of them.

Wild and outlandish stories for their sheltered family life, she recalled. She smiled at the memory. Being captive on a pirate ship would have thrilled Mina.

_No,_ she thought again, chiding herself. She would not wish this on her sister Mina.

Serena looked out the window at the two moons hanging in the deep violet night sky. Like great white opals they watched over the dark waters as the _Eliana Nor_ headed north. She sighed, wishing Darien had never mentioned her dowry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for forgetting to update this yesterday...here it is!**

* * *

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Four**

The next day dawned bright, but by evening clouds had settled in. For two days it rained steadily. Serena was grateful for the lack of wind and storm until the ship sat unmoving for two more days. The next day cleared, and a timid breeze blew in, and with it came another vessel.

Lucas identified it as a Nya ship, from the country of Nya Gakari, heading to southern Embrosse or even the Delucian Islands. Serena heard Darien and the first mate talking and learned they planned to attack when the Nyan ship was within range. She hovered between cringing at the thought of a raid and being outraged with Darien.

"That's what we do, Serena," he told her again as they sat on the quarterdeck over the cabin that evening. The whisper of a breeze was not enough to fill the sails and the _Nor_ moved excruciatingly slow. "You'll be in no danger. Nyan ships this far south are not eager for a fight."

"Won't it slow us from meeting Zoicite?" she wondered, watching him examine the short gauche sword across his knees, fingering the edge of the blade.

Darien muttered a mild oath, looking to where she sat across from him on a crate. "We can't go much slower than we are now. Maeyen will wait."

She sighed, looking northwest across the evening waters to the small dot Lucas had said was a ship. Darkness meekly enveloped the sea, slowly quenching the scorching afternoon.

"Trade places with me."

She looked at Darien quizzically, but obliged. His gaze went to the main deck now behind her. "You can take off your wrap. It's too hot for needless clothing."

She removed the damask shawl, welcoming the cool air on her shoulders. Her muted yellow skirt barely moved in the falling night. "Is it always this calm during the summer?"

"Not that I recall. We're usually farther north this time of year," he explained.

She watched him turn the highly polished gauche blade as it gleamed in the torchlight. "Will you offer them quarter?"

"Who?"

"The Nyan ship."

"Why should I? They have their own vessel." He rubbed more compound on to the blade and rubbed it with a soft cloth.

"But when you sink it they'll all drown."

He laughed, a sound that made her rethink the question. "I'm not going to sink it."

"You'll burn it?" she asked, horrified.

"You're very morose, you know that?" He shook his head. "Generally we do not torch victim ships."

"Then what?"

He shrugged, touching the edge of the weapon. "Unload what we want and cut the main sail."

"And then?"

He read the speculation in her face. "Sorry to disappoint you, Dey Serena, but that's where it ends for us. She can keep heading south."

"With no cargo?"

"Then she can turn around and go home. I don't care." He carefully wiped the grit off the metal blade, but his eyes were on her. "You've heard stories."

Serena's eyes fell to the short sword. "Of you, yes."

"They're largely exaggerated, you know," he said with a casual chuckle.

She leaned back against the rail curving to the stair. "You don't know what I've heard."

His smile would have been termed charming under other circumstances. "You're right, but I've heard some of them myself. Only the worst tales make it to the mainland ears, Serena."

"I never heard your name connected with the Messel War of Jorz Baed," she said, "and I sat at King Thulgarde's table when he spoke of that year."

"I don't think your king would consider the role of pirates and privateers polite dinner conversation." He holstered the gauche and brought out the cutlass. "Did you go to Ridollin often?"

She watched him apply compound to the blade. "Only twice, being unmarried yet."

"Twice in six years to visit the capital. Frequent, I daresay."

"It was twice last year." There was a challenge in her tone and eyes when he looked at her. "Zoicite is not to be taken lightly, Captain."

"Nor am I." His thumb followed the sword's arched edge. "That's why I took you, so he knows this is no prankish pastime."

Serena blushed as his eyes dropped over the cut of her dress where the silk met her skin. Instinctively she pulled on the shawl. "I'd like to go in now."

"Stay on deck." He nodded to the center of the ship behind her. "Hendi's fixing to play a tune, if you can stomach his idea of music."

"No, thank you."

When they were in the cabin, Darien unlocked the sea chest by the bed. "Can you play Bull and Lion solo?"

"Yes, but . . . I'm retiring now," she said quietly. She adjusted the oil lamp wick as rusty-toned music began from above deck.

He nodded, eyes still lingering on her. "I'll leave this door open, in case you want to get a book, but I'm locking the outside door."

"We're two days from land, and you still lock me in," she said with a sigh, the shawl pulled close.

He laughed, but not mockingly. "No, firefly. I lock the crew out."

The next evening a brisk breeze came up from the southwest. The _Eliana Nor's_ course quickened, bringing it upon the Nyan ship at dusk. The wind lifted the crew's spirits almost as much as the impending raid.

Serena appreciated the breeze, but thoughts of the attack left her apprehensive as she had watched the crew's preparations that afternoon. Swords and knives were sharpened, boots laced, and clothes donned, or discarded, as personal preference deemed. It was a sight that drove her into the cabin.

She pulled a chair to the window by Darien's washbasin. The windows on her wall had been locked earlier, when the Nyan ship was close enough to see clearly with a scope. Which, he had pointed out, meant the other ship could also see her in the starboard windows of the Nor.

She watched the sun slowly sink onto the western waters. Somewhere far beyond those seas lay Izramuth. She wondered about Mina and her mother.

"Are you still worried?"

She jumped at Darien's voice. The bedroom door was open and she hadn't heard him enter. "Of course I'm still worried. This may be common for you, but it scares me to death."

"You'll be fine."

She watched him strap on the scabbard and long poniard. His hair was tied back like Lucas', although it was not nearly as long. It gave him a fierce appearance, much like the first time she had seen him in the garden. It frightened her all the more.

"The lights are out on deck," he told her, rummaging through the case at the wall. "The attack shouldn't take long, Serena. Chances are there will be no fight at all."

"None?" she repeated dubiously.

"I told you, ships from as far away as this one are often eager to cooperate; there's no friendly port nearby to make repairs, not without a cargo to trade." He handed her the brass gauche. "See it that's too heavy for you."

"Me? I'm not going to fight with you," she said with a short laugh.

"I don't expect you to," he growled. "Wouldn't you feel better in here if you had a weapon of some sort?"

"Oh, well, yes," she admitted, eyeing the short sword. "But I couldn't use that."

He put the poniard in her hands. "Take this then. It's lighter." He stuck the brass sword in his belt. "Or would you prefer a large piece of glass? Lots of throats to cut on that ship."

She only scowled at him.

"Now, Serena, don't say a word, no matter what you hear outside."

She shied unconsciously. "You said I'd be safe in here."

"You are, but the last thing we need is a woman screaming and carrying on like a wet hen." He closed and locked the shutters. "It distracts the men on both ships and can lead to worse situations. Use your imagination. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"And don't make the mistake of thinking you'd be better off on a Nyan vessel," he added lowly. Only a meager candle lit the closed up room. "Slavery does exist in Nya Gakari, although not to the extent it does in Cataduke, or Izramuth."

Serena's fingers clutched the dagger, her knuckles white. "Are you finished scaring me?"

He grinned, evaluating the prim set of her mouth. "I think so. Sit tight."

The battle didn't start for another hour yet, until darkness had fully fallen, and even when it did the fight was brief, not at all what Serena had expected. At first she was relieved, but, as the night wore on, she became irritated with the wait. The candle was flickering in melted wax and would soon drown. After considerable hesitation she unplugged a wall lamp and held it to the dim candle, but kept the wick down low. After another hour she went to the armoire and found the pearl studded fan, muttering about piracy in general.

Noise of the short skirmish on the Nyan ship's deck had not been too terrible, she thought with a sigh, and the sounds she heard now were of the _Nor's_ hold being loaded. She sighed in the hot room and shook out her azure skirt, wishing Darien had left even one window open a crack.

When he returned she was sitting at the table, the knife in one hand and the fan in the other. He laughed at the sight, which annoyed her further.

"Did your candle give out?"

"Long ago."

He opened the shutters wide and turned up the lamp wick. "You make a pretty mercenary," he observed. He took off the headband. "You must admit it was a mild ordeal."

"I had expected worse," she said with a sigh. "No casualties?"

Darien shook his head. "On either side." He extended his hand. She gave him the knife without breaking the fan's rhythm. "I thought there might be a problem getting that away from you."

Serena breathed in the cool night air. "It's too hot to fight."

He stowed the weapons in the case. "I agree." He put a piece of rolled brocade cloth before her on the table. "We're finished loading. If his breeze holds out we'll be in Leneau in two days."

Her fan halted. "To meet Zoicite?"

He nodded, watching her finger the cloth. "Open it."

She bit her lip, eyeing the vivid cloth. "What is it?"

"Open it and find out." He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he found a bottle in the cupboard.

Serena tentatively unrolled the material, catching her breath at the necklace. The strand was of graduated lapis lazuli beads interrupted by occasional blue pearls. She touched one, expecting the pearl to be cooler than the fiery blue beads.

"You don't like it?"

She looked to him slowly, shaking her head. "Am I supposed to accept this?"

"Why not? Aside from the obvious reason."

She rolled the smooth beads in the cloth again, frowning, the lamp suddenly shedding too much heat. "Isn't that enough?"

He took a long drink from the bottle, watching the gentle night breeze lift her blonde hair in the lamplight. "I would think so."

She avoided looking at him as he came to the table.

He nodded. "Keep them."

"No, I -"

"You don't have to tell Zoicite where you got them," he added, amused at her discomfort. "You don't even have to wear them."

Her eyes narrowed, flicking to his. "What do you want from me?"

Darien shook his head, laughing. "Not what you're thinking, dear Serena. And not that you don't possess the provocation, but Maeyen may not be so eager for your return if your chastity were to be compromised. Providing it is intact now."

"That," she said after a moment, "is Zoicite's concern, and only his."

He studied her for a moment, the ship creaking as it moved across the dark waters. "A careful response."

Serena rose and left the cloth at the table and took the sleeveless night chemise and pelisse from the closet, trying to hide her growing uneasiness.

"Don't change yet," he said when he saw the slip. "It's cooler on deck. Come up for a while."

"I'm tired." It was true. The long, unstirring air had made sleeping impossible the preceding night.

Darien nodded. "Please yourself." He took another bottle from the cupboard and left its door open. "You're welcome to find something you like to drink."

"Thank you."

When he was gone Serena changed quickly behind the folding screen. Her mind was a flurry of thoughts, a collection of frantic, half-formed ideas that added to her agitation.

She knew it would be cooler on deck with the uninterrupted breeze, but she wanted to be alone at the moment. She sat on the bed and brushed her hair absently, her thoughts and eyes going to the table.

The gift disturbed her, not only because he dared give it, but her own reaction also. Begrudgingly she admitted to herself that she was tempted to keep the necklace. She sighed, her hands falling into her lap. There was no way to accept the necklace without appearing friendly or contradicting her position as captive. She wasn't familiar with the protocol involving hostage situations, but taking a gift was certainly not a good practice.

"How dare him," she murmured, turning the brush in her hands, her eyes on the necklace.

With a surreptitious glance out the door she settled at the table and reopened the cloth. The rounds of lapis were of superb quality, she knew. The deep blue flecked with bits of gold resulted in a metallic sparkle under the lamplight. The pearls were also choice, of the best Nya variety. They shone a cool silver blue luster, mirroring the tiny spots of gold from the lapis. Even if she could summon the courage to accept them there would be Zoicite to answer to.

_Perhaps not,_ Serena thought with fleeting hopefulness. Unless it was carnelian, Zoicite rarely commented on her jewelry. Although dominated by the family gem, she had many other pieces, of numerous stones and designs. Jewelers were a frequent sight at the Maeyen estate, not to appease Serena's extravagance, but because Zoicite was always open to discover new fittings and showcases for carnelian.

She held up the strand. It had a good weight to it. With a sigh of regret and strange satisfaction she rolled it back in the brocade. She wanted no souvenir from this ordeal, regardless how tempting at the moment.

The _Eliana Nor_ reached Leneau two days later as dawn was breaking. The trade port was already busy. Late fishermen were pushing boats into the misty coastal waters as more dories dotting the shallow bay pulled in nets. Not all the ships docked at the double row of slips were legitimate. Leneau enjoyed a healthy trade life, and about half of it came from pirate activity. It was not an unruly town, although its jails were little more crowded than most ports.

Darien's unwavering scrutiny of the piers lasted until noon. Even then he was not certain Ros dem Zoicite Maeyen had not visited the docks and quietly left. The instructions Darien had left at Maeyen's house in the Sol Min Valley were to meet at the docks, but there was no way of knowing when Zoicite had returned from the border.

He calculated Maeyen would want to be home at least a week before his wedding to Serena, and he allowed four days of steady travel for him to meet the ship in Leneau. That would bring Zoicite to the port town today. Even with the days of little wind and encounter with the Nyan ship the _Nor_ docked on the day Darien had predicted, partly because of the stiff breeze that had blown up from the south.

He looked to where Lucas was dozing on a rail, knowing the mate had one eye on the dock traffic. Darien was satisfied with the results of Serena's abduction, so far. He was also pleased to discover Maeyen's affianced wife was such a comely woman.

_Girl_, he thought. _Not quite a woman_. That she was part Izmaruthen was a pleasant surprise. He had always preferred the smooth, lightly tanned skin of the Izmaruthen to the milky white of Nyan and Catadukian women. Most Izmaruthen had a shade of red or auburn hair and brown or dark amber eyes, which was where Serena's Embrossen blood made a statement. Not a hint of gray or brown tinted her eyes. Instead they ranged from a translucent lapis to a sleepy sapphire luster, depending how angry or frightened she was at the moment.

His attention followed a man who had been walking up and down the dock for an hour. He was a tall, sturdy man who looked with interest at each of the five ships at the pier. Lucas noticed him too. Darien nodded and the first mate went out to meet the man. However, Lucas returned momentarily to report it was only a eunuch looking for his master's ship.

It was not until evening settled on that day in Leneau that Zoicite Maeyen found his way to the _Eliana Nor._ The strain of journeying from border to coast in two weeks now showed in his face. Behind his dark eyes he kept reserved the alarm Darien's note had roused in him. Alarm that extended beyond Serena's welfare, which threatened much more than a few simple sentences should have. Three days ago he and his traveling entourage had come upon the once grand Maeyen estate. Even with an hour's ride yet he had detected the stale smell of blood and vermin infested rot.

What had happened in the valley was obvious. The main drawbridge was still standing, but showed intense signs of attack, and whole interior of the house had been churned. Bodies were strewn from cellar to balcony, from kitchen to courtyard pool.

Serena was not among them, news that at first soothed Zoicite's mind, until he found the braid of her blonde hair held to his bed post by a knife. The result of the short note with it was his presence on the wooden pier in the muggy evening air of Leneau. His eyes rested again on the ship's name. He waved for his retainers to stay at the town side of the dock.

Darien had watched the blond haired man's approach and now crossed the deck to meet him.

"You are Darien Montaro?" Zoicite asked from the pier.

"I am." Darien looked to the men at the end of the dock momentarily before his attention returned to Zoicite. "You haven't met my demands."

Zoicite appraised the dark haired man briefly. "Where is my wife?"

"She keeps saying she isn't your wife," Darien told him, one hand resting on his sword's hilt. A dozen of the crew had placed themselves around the ship, watching for signs of trouble.

"We'll be married in six days." Zoicite looked to the cabin door. "I want to see her."

"You haven't brought what I want. A life for a life seems fair."

"What do you know of fairness?"

Darien's hand tightened on the cutlass. "Tell me now if her life means so little to you, Maeyen. We'll end this tonight."

Zoicite's scowl deepened, his posture at the ready. "You'll get nothing from me until I see Dey Maeyen," he said, a dark look covering his face.

Darien held his stare, nodding. "Come back tomorrow. With the ransom."

Zoicite's hands clenched. "If you touch her, Montaro, I'll flay you myself."

Darien's dim smile only added to Zoicite's anger. "She is tempting, your Serena, and the nights are long," he said, an edge to his voice. "She certainly deserves more than you for a master."

Zoicite said no more, but threw Darien a threatening look and took his leave. When he was out of sight, Darien turned to Lucas, who had witnessed the meeting.

"Round up the men and set sail."

Serena had spent the long hot day they had docked confined in the stuffy bedroom. Darien had left early that morning, just as she was waking. Brons brought her breakfast and lunch, but did not linger to let her ask questions.

She idled away the morning examining in detail the Bull and Lion game pieces. She could tell they were originally Randalian by the sheer number of jasper animals still remaining. The rugged, dry country south of Izramuth was rich in jaspers. The other, more vibrantly colored pieces were a menagerie from collections Darien had fancied over the years as he came upon them.

Serena sat at the sturdy, grainy walnut table as a soft afternoon breeze rode in through a bedchamber window Darien had left locked partway open. She sat close to it, enjoying the intermittent coolness.

She again observed the game pieces. She was especially fascinated by the malachite frog and obsidian turtle pieces. The banded greens and black of the frog blended over the small creature's body so it appeared to almost move. The turtle was of Catadukian obsidian, a variety Darien had called snowflake. It was actually black opaque volcanic glass with feathery white infractions. The craftsman had carved it so the shell was dotted with white, marked very much like a real turtle shell.

But the cat of black amber was her favorite. It glowed like an eclipse when she held it up to the hanging lantern she had lit as evening descended. The flame illuminated the piece with various degrees of dark, burnt russet, the outline of the feline appearing to glow. She took it away quickly as the back of the cat grew warm. Her thumb felt the sloping arch of its back, amazed at the dark resin's smoothness.

Serena set the cat down, her mind going to thoughts of Zoicite, where it had been all day. Surely he'd returned to the valley by now. She turned her sentiments from the sickening carnage he would find at the house to her own plight. It was almost over now. They would remain docked in Leneau a few days waiting for Zoicite, and then she would go home.

She sighed, finding a comfort in the thought, until a sudden lurch of the ship made her catch the black cat before it fell to the floor. Frantically she peered through the rear starboard window locked open a hand's breadth. The opposite dock line moved at an angle, omitting any doubt in her mind. She bolted for the door, where she was intercepted by Darien coming into the room.

"We're leaving!" she cried, her fingers knotted in his tunic. "You said we'd wait on Zoicite!"

He looked down at her fists and then to her. "He's already been here, and left."

Her eyes grew wide, astonishment claiming her face. "You said I could go back." A new horror welled in her eyes. "What did you tell him?"

"To come back tomorrow."

Serena blinked, frowning, and sheepishly took her hands from his shirt. "Then why are we sailing tonight?"

Darien stepped away and opened the windows swiftly as the mainland fell away. He assessed her dubious expression dispassionately. "You're a satin trap, Serena. I'm not giving you up until he brings your ransom."

Her troubled eyes followed him as he unlaced his shirt and brought two bottles out of the cupboard. Her frown turned to confusion. "He didn't bring it?"

He shook his head. "Not to the dock, he didn't."

An uneasy pout came to her mouth. "What if he doesn't bring it tomorrow?"

He smiled, which irritated her. "Having doubts about his fealty?"

"Of course not," Serena snapped, confidence slipping into place once again. "He'll pay your lousy ransom, Captain."

"Good." Darien went to the armoire and looked through it, tossing her the shawl. "Now pull in your claws and come up on deck before you melt."

That night Serena awoke as the larger of the two moons crossed her window. For a long while she lay there in bed, admiring the pale globes hung beneath the starry blue-purple heavens. She pulled the linen closer, appreciating the slow breeze that found its way into the dark room. The ship creaked as it bobbed languidly on the reflective waters, a sound she had learned to accept over the last few days.

She glanced toward the door where Darien was sleeping in the hammock. She had even learned to sleep through his low snoring. Silently she moved to the cushioned bench beneath her window and drew her knees up close. The Father Moon was huge, signaling the waning of summer. There would still be a few weeks of hot weather, and then the cooler days of harvest would sweep over Embrosse, followed by a tepid winter.

She sighed, watching the mirrored moons on the rippling waters. The smell of the sea was a welcome contrast to the closed up heat of the room earlier that day. She couldn't see the mainland, but knew it was just out of sight. Far enough, she had been told, to be back at dock by noon. She watched two gulls fly low and silent over the waters, their shadows streaming sleekly behind them.

"What are you looking at?" Darien asked from the corner.

Serena flinched at his voice. "Just the moons."

"Is the Mother Moon out?"

"Yes, but it's faded and small." Her eyes went from the smaller moon back to him for a moment. "Will you really let me go tomorrow?"

He laughed easily. "I didn't steal you for myself, Serena. If Maeyen meets my price tomorrow, yes, I'll let you go."

She leaned against the wall, her eyes going back to the moons. "You said your price isn't money."

"It isn't."

For a long moment she waited for him to continue, but he remained silent. "Just tell me the ransom, Darien," she said with a sigh. "It'll be over tomorrow."

"Your husband's visit has made you bolder," he noted with an amused laugh.

"Captain."

"We're past formalities, Serena," he observed. "Maeyen can tell you the ransom."

She looked back at him again, unable to see more than a vague outline in the shadows where she knew him to be. For a moment, in the dark, he seemed less of a threat than ever since she had come aboard the ship. "Is it much?"

"To me it is," he admitted, "but your husband will never miss it."

"He's not my husband yet," she mumbled, her eyes going to the window.

"I told him you said that."

Her attention shot back to him. "You didn't."

"Well, you keep saying it," he said, accusation hinting his tone.

"Merely a few days wait," she corrected with a haughty lilt, her gaze returning to the water lapping at the hull.

"Your ardor is overwhelming." He smiled, appreciating her profile against the window. In the scant light he could see the casual folds of the silk slip in absence of the pelisse. The heavy lilac material draped over her drawn up knees with only her feet in view, her arms wrapped around her knees. The blonde tresses falling on her shoulders were a golden honey color in the moons' light, moving faintly in the gentle breeze.

"Have you been everywhere?" she asked suddenly, her voice void of insolence now.

He shrugged, watching the turn of her body when she looked at him. "Everywhere I've wanted to be."

Serena wasn't satisfied with the answer. "Where haven't you been?"

He sighed, considering the question. Finally he said: "Cyntias."

"The Island of People-Eaters," she murmured, jogging her memory of what she'd heard of them. "Are they really like that? The Cyntians?"

"Yes. They eat their enemies. Raise captives for food," he added. "Just like livestock. The adults file their teeth to points."

"Do their eyes really glow at night?" she wondered, fascinated despite herself, recalling stories she and Mina had heard as children.

"No. Those are just rumors."

For a moment Serena was quiet, absorbed in the view out the window. "I can read," she said somberly.

He shook his head, chuckling at her fleeting attention. "What made you think of that?"

"I can," she insisted.

"I believe you."

The largest moon now shone brighter into the warm room, making her conscious of her bare arms and slight clothing. She chanced a look back to find Darien watching her intently. A flush rose in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

She wordlessly went to the bed the crawled in, rolling up in the sheets until she could barely move. _Tomorrow I'll be on my way home,_ she thought, eyes closing tightly, ignoring the added heat of the bedclothes. _Home_.

Zoicite had come for her. It was all over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Five**

Zoicite was back on the Leneau pier early the next evening. He didn't board the _Eliana Nor_ docked there immediately, but stood at the end of her gangplank, alone. Although he didn't look directly at any of the scores of pirates loitering on deck in the torchlight he was very much aware of their presence. His eyes fastened on a particular man, the one responsible for the dire situation. The thought of his promised wife captive to the pirate captain summoned feelings new to Zoicite.

"Where's my wife, Montaro?" he demanded from the dock.

Darien gestured for him to board, noting the sword at the wealthy man's side as he neared. "You didn't bring the ransom."

"I want to see her first," Zoicite said. "Then we'll discuss your price."

Darien shook his head. "No deal."

Zoicite was at a momentary loss. His eyes went to the cabin door, trying desperately to see beyond it. "You know that slavery is illegal in Embrosse."

"I know it."

Zoicite chose his next words carefully. "There are many workers in the Maeyen mines," he said deliberately. "I don't know if I can locate him soon."

"I suggest you make this a priority," Darien told him darkly.

Zoicite considered this for a moment. "I want to see her. Now."

Darien nodded, and Lucas brought a very frightened Serena from the cabin to his side. The captain pushed her before Zoicite, his hand firm on her shoulder.

"Are you hurt, Serena?" Zoicite looked over her face and arms quickly. He didn't remember her hair being the color of bright flax in the sun, or that she was indeed a young woman and no longer the child he had amused for six years. The time had slipped by hastily and he realized he had been absent much of the time since Methuen's death.

"No." Serena bit her lip against the words that wanted to tumble out. Too many words rushed to her mind to voice them coherently.

Zoicite looked to Darien's hand on her shoulder and his jaw tightened. "Let her go now, Montaro. I'll bring what you want."

Darien shook his head. "She stays until you deliver."

Zoicite straightened, bringing him nearly equal in height to the pirate. "You have my word. Let her go, and I'll go to the mines personally."

Darien's grip on Serena's shoulder was firm as she tried to move away. "She stays, and you have my word I will not touch her, for one week."

A small whimper escaped Serena as she looked from Zoicite to Darien and back again. "Zoicite, please -"

"A week isn't long enough," Zoicite said, avoiding her eyes. "I have to go to Lusson."

Darien appraised Zoicite warily. "It was the Ibereth mine."

Zoicite shook his head. "It can't be. That location caved in a month ago. All the workers have been transferred north." His expression softened when he looked to Serena, reading the plea in her face. "It'll take me over a week to get to Lusson."

"Two weeks," Darien allowed. "Be in Cold Rock in two weeks, Maeyen, or I sell her on the Catadukian blocks."

Zoicite's hand went to his sword. The sound of steel being drawn echoed around the ship as dozens of pirates followed the action. Zoicite's hand paused on the weapon. "There were casualties in the Ibereth collapse."

"That is your misfortune also, if it is mine," Darien promised. He let Serena's hair fall through his fingers, watching Zoicite bristle at the movement, feeling Serena's shoulder stiffen beneath his grip. "She's a very pretty flower, Maeyen. Eyes blue as cobalt, skin as sweet as wild honey," he said lowly. His hand tightened on Serena's arm when she tried to bolt from him. "Two weeks, in Cold Rock, Maeyen, or I sell her."

Zoicite reached for Serena's hand, but Darien pushed her to Lucas, who took hold of her wrist. Zoicite estimated the pirate coolly. "Keep your filthy hands off her, Montaro," he warned thickly, his hand tightening to his sword.

"Only if you keep your end of the deal."

Zoicite looked to her under Darien's watchful eye. "I'll come for you in Cold Rock, Serena." He left then, and with him went her hope and comfort.

Serena fought Lucas as he escorted her to the cabin, screaming oaths in every language she knew, succeeding in leaving a few nail scratches in his arm. The first mate only laughed, warding off her flailing arms until Darien joined them in the office below the quarterdeck. He gave order to sail and dismissed the mate.

When he looked back to Serena he was greeted by a flash of the gauche she had snatched from his belt. He sidestepped the clumsy swipe, the blade lodging in the wall. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head against the mantle wall.

"Let me go!" She pulled futilely and tried to kick him until he leaned heavily on her. "Get off me," she said through gritted teeth, squirming.

"You attack me one more time, Dey Maeyen, and I'll blindfold you until we get to Cold Rock!"

Serena glared at him, his face only inches from her own. "Don't you ever touch me again," she bit out.

Darien's eyes dropped over her for a moment, fingers closing roughly over hers, making her shrink even farther away. "If your husband doesn't show up on time in Cold Rock," he said quietly, holding her gaze steadily, "I'm going to do a lot more than ruffle your hair."

Serena drew a shaky breath when he released her, wincing as he jerked the short sword from the wall beside her. She slipped from him and escaped to the solace of the darkening bedchamber, easily finding the window bench seat without a candle. She curled against the wall, hugging her knees, and sobbed unrestrained until her skirt was saltier than the sea.

By sea, traveling to Cold Rock took only a week, with good winds, but by land it took seventeen days, if one hastened by horseback. Cold Rock was one of the largest Embrossen cities near the border, and so volatile were the residents that visitors often thought they were in Cataduke. Although illegal, slavery was very much an industry there, and King Thulgarde's efforts to quell the human trade failed.

As it was, the _Eliana Nor_ headed out to sea from Leneau to be enveloped in a dense fog pulled in by the strong Penda Hane currents from Izramuth and Luresia. A mild breeze lifted the sails and the ship's navigator was confident the fog would blow away, but the weather made many in the crew uneasy.

Serena awoke the next day to Brons calling out bells on deck that afternoon. Her head ached where it had lain on the window sill all night and her legs were cramped from being drawn up. She groaned, putting a hand to her throbbing temple. She looked to the sheet pulled over her, strangely, and then to the undisturbed bed and rolled hammock. The room was empty.

Outside a thin gray fog settled over the hazy waters like a sparse cloud. She couldn't judge how far they were from land, nor did she care. Zoicite had left without her. Nothing else mattered. She sighed, then shuddered, pulling the sheet closer as Darien's words from the previous evening rang again in her ears. If Zoicite was even late she would be sold at a slave auction in Cataduke.

"Oh, please, Zoicite," she implored with desperation, staring vacantly into the fog. "Please be on time. Don't leave me here."

Other words echoed in her head, too. Zoicite had two weeks to bring one of the mine workers to Darien. That was her ransom. She couldn't imagine why a pirate would make such a demand. Perhaps the worker was an escaped slave he had owned, or maybe even a felon with a bounty to be collected.

_No,_ she thought, stretching her legs testily, grimacing at her aching toes. _Darien isn't acting like a man after something as simple as a slave or bounty._ _And it can't be a wife. _

There were no women in the mines. She had never visited the Maeyen mines, but Serena knew Zoicite would not employ women in such conditions.

She looked at the bowl of strawberries and melon on the table, then to the open door. She heard nothing. She took a moment to stretch her cramped legs, and then silently crossed the room and looked into the office. Darien was sitting at the desk, writing on a ledger. She went to the armoire and found a dress. As she washed her face at her washbasin she was shocked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were red and dark and her hair matted.

She changed quickly behind the folding screen and combed the knots from her hair, but her eyes were still hollow. She saw another movement behind her in the washstand mirror.

"Come in here when you're done," Darien instructed from the doorway, watching her try to untangle her hair. "Bring your breakfast with you." He went back into the office.

Serena draped the damask shawl over her shoulders and went into the other room. She stood before the desk until he looked up.

"Sit down, Serena. You aren't hungry?"

"No." She sat on the velvet covered chair, pulling the shawl closer.

He pushed the ledger away. "You look terrible. You should eat."

"Who do you know in the Lusson mines?" she asked without deliberation.

Darien studied her, and then shook his head. "No one. Who concerns me was at Ibereth. What do you know about the collapse there?"

"Only that it happened." She shrugged slowly, wearily. "A messenger came to the house shortly after Zoicite left for the border and said the main tunnel had collapsed. We sent a runner to meet Zoicite with the news." Her eyes were bleary, but honest when she looked to him. "He must have ordered the workers to the Lusson mines, the ones that would go."

"Would go," he scoffed, cursing. "You don't know much about the Maeyen family, do you?"

The issue pricked her. "That they're a seventeen-generation legend in Embrosse?" she posed, her chin tilted with the last of her hope. "That they're second only to royalty? Maybe you don't know that because they're also a very modest family, and Zoicite is the last of his line. Methuen was the most charitable of the Maeyens to date. Do you know he built the library in Ridollin?"

"How very generous." Darien sat back, pleased with her defiance despite being at his mercy. "I don't know if you're just ignorant, Serena, or accepting of the situation."

"Situation?" Puzzlement crowded her face as she tried to read his expression. "Zoicite has nothing to hide," she said, eyes narrowing, her voice raising a notch. "You're just tormenting me to amuse yourself. Your own life is so full of murder and thievery and slavery and, and rape you can't imagine anyone being respectable!"

"My judgment is well-founded," he told her, watching her agitation, "and I don't slave."

"A lie." She bit her trembling lip, swallowing her fear. "I won't be the first you've taken to the blocks.

"I don't slave!" he bellowed, suddenly standing over the desk, leaning toward her. He held her shaken gaze, eyes burning into hers as she moved away in the chair. "There has never been a slave on this ship since I've been captain, and there never will be. Besides," he continued, sitting back in the chair again, clearing his throat, "you're Izmaruthen. Slavery shouldn't startle you."

"We never owned slaves. My father was Embrossen," she said stiffly. "He despised the practice."

"Then it must be ignorance," he said with finality.

"You should have let me go last night; Zoicite would keep his word to you."

"Perhaps, but as long as you're here the chances are far better." The shawl fell off her shoulder and he watched her snap it back into place. "I'll tell you now, Serena Maey- Bella Ver, I won't sell you at the slave auction. Or anywhere else."

She sat staring speechlessly at him as other thoughts came into her mind.

He rested his elbows on the table, continuing as she tried to find her voice. "Much of what I said last night was to provoke your husband to action. Simply an idle threat."

Serena gathered her slipped composure, sitting straighter, trying to keep her voice level. "Not all your threats met Zoicite's ears."

"Yes, I recall." Darien's eyes held hers. "I would not keep you blindfolded, dear Serena, but I do not like repeated assaults from women. That was to get your attention."

She summoned her ragged courage. "And I do not like threats of personal assault."

He shook his head, surprised she would voice the concern. "I was distracted last night," he admitted, watching her eyes flash a deeper hue, his gaze dropping over her slowly. "With the scent of your hair, and the warmth of ..." He paused as she moved uncomfortably on the chair. He sighed. "I am not a rapist, and I'll make no exception in your case, even if Maeyen is late coming to Cold Rock."

"You were bluffing," she said, realizing she was holding her breath. "But, but if you wouldn't sell me, and, and if -"

"If you have gods, Serena, pray Maeyen makes good on his promise," he said as a bell sounded on deck. He stood up. "Brons will be in with your lunch. You won't like being on deck in the fog, but you have the run of the rooms."

Earlier that previous night, Zoicite had sat in a private room at a Leneau tavern with another man for two hours debating Darien's demands. Their arguments had resulted in few courses of action, and the option presenting itself was not met with enthusiasm by Zoicite

His dark eyes glowered at the tankard of ale before him. "I don't like it, Rubeus. It's not right. There's got to be a way around -"

"There isn't," the red haired man intruded harshly, his thin fingers on the handle of his tankard. "Zoicite, I've seen nuances like this operate before, and one with the bearing of this can bring down your whole fortune, and future." He leaned closer to Zoicite, his voice low. "This is only the finger to a much larger problem; but if you take that finger it drags out a hand, and the whole bloody skeleton comes with it."

Zoicite heard the advisor's words, but did not like their impact. Rubeus was a respectable counselor for the Maeyen family for years, and his father before him had been one of their longest employees. Rubeus knew almost as much about the Maeyen family and history as Zoicite himself. He scowled at the tavern maid when she came in and ordered her to leave. He turned back to Rubeus. "All right. We'll do as you say." He took a deep breath, cursing at the poor quality of ale. "We'll have to send a dispatch to Lusson immediately."

Rubeus smiled with satisfaction. "You're wise, Zoicite. Methuen would be proud. He would understand there is no way around this problem. I'll make arrangements for the house, and have excuses sent."

Zoicite nodded. "I'll seal the letter to the king myself."

The fog thickened for two days, but on the third lifted slowly. A hazy sun slowly burned away all remaining fog by noon, raising the crew's spirits. An easy breeze had carried the _Eliana Nor_ north, but Darien was in no hurry to reach Cold Rock.

Serena scowled at the sight of only half the sails filled that afternoon. Even she knew full sail would be quicker. Darien had already voiced his preference to spending the extra time at sea rather than in port.

She leaned on the _Nor's_ rail, the gentle breeze catching her amethyst skirts as she watched the whales surfacing off the port bow. As she listened to Lucas beside her speak of the slate whales he called gray-bellies she saw smaller animals near them leaping and arching over the cobalt waters.

"What are those?"

"Silver dolphins," Lucas explained, pointing to two dolphins lagging behind the pack of five. "The males have green on their noses." He handed her a scope.

She looked through the glass, spotting the slower dolphins. "Are they chasing them?"

"No; just playing."

She gave the scope back and looked where Darien stood at the opposite side of the ship, watching her and the first mate. She looked at the flag Lucas used to tie back his dark hair.

"How long have you been on the _Nor_, Lucas?" she asked casually, her attention back on the whales.

"Six years." Lucas glanced sideways at her. "He _will_ let you go in Cold Rock, Dey Maeyen."

She did not look at him, but frowned as one of the whales spouted water. "Are you from the Tiil Islands?"

"Yes."

"Why do you wear their flag like that? Are you a traitor?"

He laughed in a way that made a chill sweep up her spine. "No."

"Who does Darien want in exchange for me?" Her eyes went over the water as the whales moved farther out. When Lucas did not answer, she looked to see that he was gone and Darien now stood by her side.

"Get any information out of Lucas?" he asked, grinning.

Serena's frown deepened and she mumbled a new curse she had learned.

"Perhaps you didn't approach him right." He leaned on the rail next to her, watching the shawl move in the increasing wind. "Lucas responds more agreeably to other feminine persuasion."

Her eyes went to his hastily. "Do you have to twist everything into perversion?"

"I thought I'd save you time discovering the best way to milk answers out of the crew," he said with a shrug.

Her chin tilted. "I don't care _that_ much."

"Good, because it's not a good practice to tantalize even -"

"I do not tantalize," she denied flippantly. "I only asked him a few questions."

"When you're the only woman aboard, a few questions can be mistaken for an invitation of sorts," he said lowly.

The sincerity in his tone made her look to him again. "I only asked simple questions," she said candidly, brushing her hair away as the wind threw it in her face. "He was talking about the gray-bellies, and I asked him who you wanted in trade for me."

Darien nodded. "He didn't tell you."

Her attention dropped to where a few of the dolphins were racing along the hull of the ship. "Why does it matter if I find out?"

"Why do you want to know?"

She frowned at him. "You're going through a lot of trouble for someone, Captain, and since my freedom depends on it, I think I should know."

He smiled at her reasoning. "You are a good deal of trouble, Dey Maeyen," he admitted, watching the whales move out of sight. "I suppose you do deserve to know, but I believe it's best you do not."

She licked her lips, taking a deep breath. "Why not go about this another way?" He looked to her and she added quickly: "Surely there were other, simpler means of getting, well, getting whomever you want."

Darien leaned back on the rail and crossed his arms, returning her intent attention. "You are not my first attempt, Serena," he conceded with a sigh. "I've tried other ways, and healthy bribery, too, but they resulted in worse conditions for my interest. When I heard Maeyen was soon to be married, and that his future bride was already in his house, it seemed natural to reason he would value your safe return."

She looked back to the sea, but her focus was not on the waves. "And then you found out it was an arranged marriage and you're not sure Zoicite holds my life so precious. Maybe all your trouble is for nothing." She had to force the words out and they left a foul taste in her mouth.

Darien saw the pout pull at her lips and the threat of storm in her eyes. "You've said on several occasions that Zoicite Maeyen is a righteous and prominent man whom King Thulgarde holds in high esteem," he reminded steadily, watching the sunlight play in her hair. "Your betrothal was sealed when you were born, and you've grown up in his uncle's house. If you believe all that, Serena Bella Ver, then your affianced husband will uphold his duty, and come for you."

Serena looked to him dubiously. "What kind of trick is this?" Earnestness replaced signs of tears in her eyes. "Why do you say that?"

He gestured without meaning. "No trick, Serena. If what you say about Maeyen is true, this ordeal is but a delay of your wedding. An interesting story to tell your grandchildren. Zoicite will meet us in Cold Rock with your ransom."

"He will," she said with more assurance than she felt. Unconsciously her fingernails dug into the ship rail. "But you don't think so, do you?"

He saw through her false courage. "I hope he is there, Serena. Perhaps even more than you do."


	6. Chapter 6

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Six**

Later that night the _Eliana Nor_ attacked a ship Serena heard identified only as the _Rona Di Belran_. Again she sat alone in the dark, sealed bedroom during the siege, but this time Darien did not leave her a lit lamp, and the _Rona's _crew put up a fight.

For an eternity the sounds of curses and screams and the crash of bodies against the cabin wall made Serena cringe and offer desperate prayers. She sat at the window bench, knees drawn close to her chest, the poniard clenched in her white-knuckle hands. She told herself it was only the lack of light and shut up windows that made the fight seem so long, but it was little consolation. To add to the chaos the wind threw waves at the starboard wall, and she recoiled as much from them as the fight on deck.

Even when the raid was over the winds did not die. By the time the cries on deck turned jubilant and Darien opened the door to the dark bedchamber, Serena was nauseous from the dip and tumble of the ship. Her eyes squinted as she looked from where she sat on the bench seat to the torch he carried.

"Did you win?"

"Of course. What's wrong?" He held the light closer, picking the knife up from the floor where she had dropped it. "You're sick. The sea?"

She started to nod, then thought better of it. "Yes." She watched him light the hanging lantern, which swayed freely. Her arms tightened over her queasy stomach as she caught sight of the blood at his side. "Are you hurt?"  
"Hmm? No." He offered his hand. "Stand up for a while. Sitting against the side of the storm will make it seem worse."

Her eyes rested on his hand, spotted with dried blood. "I'll stay here."

Darien nodded. "I see."

Serena closed her eyes tight again as he moved away, the waves echoing in her head. The ship lurched and she caught the sill to keep from being dumped on the floor. Suddenly the air felt lighter and cooler, and the storm grew louder.

"Come along now."

She looked up to see he had washed and changed clothes. Beyond him the portside windows were open halfway. "Please, I'd rather - "

"That's the worst spot to sit right now," he told her stoutly. "Come sit on the chest. It's centermost of the room."

Serena glanced at the chest at the end of the bed and took the hand he offered. His grip on hers was strong, warm. Not the same spotted hand he had offered earlier. When she got to the trunk she sat heavily on it, hands clenched in her lap.

Darien poured an ivory cup half full from a bottle and gave it to her. A strong smell met her nose and she shook her head.

"It'll make me sick."

"Drink it. Maybe you can sleep through the storm."

She hesitantly took the cup. "Will it sink us?"

"It's not that bad, Serena." He watched her fingers clutch the cup, the uneasy look on her usually pleasant face. He found the pelisse from her armoire and put it gently around her shoulders. "Sitting in the dark and against the side like that only made it seem worse."

She looked away from the liquid in the cup she held. "It isn't as rocky here," she admitted, holding the cup up to him. "I really don't need this."

He refused to take it. "Drink it anyway. Once you lay down the waves will feel worse."

She watched him holster the cutlass and turn down the lantern wick. "Where are you going?"

"Just on deck to get a tally for the cargo. Drink that and lay down, and you'll be all right."

Serena didn't believe him, but after he was gone for half an hour she chanced a sip of the amber liquor. It tasted of nuts and molasses, with a short bitterness when she swallowed it. A warmth grew in her stomach, dissolving the spasmodic wrenching there. She had to admit sitting on the chest was much more stable than the pitching sidewalls.

She drank half the brandy, shrugging off the lace pelisse when it became too warm. Another smell mingled with that of the drink and she recognized it as cinnamon. Part of the cargo, she reasoned, finishing the cup. During a lull in the waves she rinsed the cup in the bucket of salt water by the fireplace and set it on the table.

From outside she could hear calls across the ship deck, recognizing Darien's among them. She looked to the shirt he'd discarded on a hook on the wall near his washbasin. She went there, looking at it without touching it. One sleeve was dark red, but not dripping, and she wondered briefly if he'd been hurt, despite what he'd told her.

"What does it matter?" she mused aloud, chiding herself for even wondering. "Pirates should expect to be injured in an attack. Would be justice."

She lowered the lamp wick and crawled into bed, pleasantly surprised the rolling of the ship seemed calmer. She inhaled the sweet smell of cinnamon, now detecting other scents too faint to determine. She pulled the sheets closer, and shut her eyes against the muted light.

Serena awoke early the next morning to a gnawing ebb in her stomach. She curled tighter in the finely woven sheets, a menagerie of smells meeting her nose. She looked around in the twilight of daybreak. The ship still moved with lesser winds, but now seemed to be riding the swells rather than being tossed by them.

Darien's snoring brought her attention to that corner. The window by him was wide open. She looked out it at the waters rising and falling. With the early hour the sea was no color, only a changing, rippling sheet of dark gray. The horizon was a paler gray, too, making the outside world seem strangely without color.

Darien had stopped snoring and Serena looked at him to find he was awake. His eyes were following her gaze out the window, curious what held her attention there. He looked back to her.

"Did you see something?"

She shook her head. "Everything looks gray this morning," she observed.

"It's always like that after a storm." He got to his feet, stretched, and rolled up the hammock. "Go back to sleep. It's early."

She said nothing, but watched him pull on a shirt. Her eyes rested on his arm where she had seen a mark near his shoulder before. What it was, she had never bothered to see clearly, but it looked like a tattoo. _Probably some mark of allegiance to a pirate brotherhood, _she thought, averting her eyes as he turned.

She stood at the bedside, pulling her slip skirt to see the burns on her calf. They were healing well, the darkness fading daily. Perhaps the caron oil was better than saffron.

"How do you feel?" Darien's eyes were on her leg too.

She dropped the skirt when he came closer, but he lifted it enough to see the burn.

"Do you mind?" she said coolly.

"Don't get catty this early in the day," he growled. He opened the windows on the starboard wall.

From below deck Serena heard a sound she couldn't identify. It rose louder, and although she listened intently she still couldn't determine what it was.

She washed her face and changed her clothes while Darien was in the office, and when he returned she asked about the sounds.

"Marmars and marmoui," he told her. "Did you keep birds in the valley?"

"Not those kind. Mostly peafowl." She tried to recall what she had heard of the tropical birds, prized for their bright plumage. "Where was that ship from last night?"

"All over," he said with a short laugh. "It was pirate too."

She frowned and held her tongue as Brons came in with her breakfast. When the boy had left, she said: "You attacked another pirate ship?"

"Why not? They usually have a good cargo." He watched her glance at the table set with melon and blueberries.

"I thought perhaps pirates didn't attack each other. Some unwritten code of conduct or something," she said with a shrug. A veiled inquisitiveness came into her eyes. "Can I see them?"

Darien looked at her sharply. "The pirates? Sorry. We didn't keep any."

She scowled at him. "The _birds_," she clarified briskly.

"Sure. Eat first." As an afterthought he nodded at the bowl of fruit on the table and said: "Bring it in here."

Serena sat across from him at the desk in the office as the sun timidly broke through the windows, stretching long shadows across the wooden floor. With the morning light came a slack in the winds, diluting the sea waves to shallow swells. She savored the taste of the mild green melon, comparing it to that of the sweeter white flesh of the fruits raised in the valley.

"You have cinnamon on board too," she said off-handedly.

Darien looked up from his ledger and frowned. "Do you want some on your melon?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "I just remembered smelling cinnamon last night."

He nodded. "We go three bales of cinnamon, a barrel of vanilla beans and four barrels of olives in brine." He wrote on the rough papyrus page for a moment. "Also, ten measures of flute bamboo, some prime material, lead, Luresian soapstone and alabaster, and green tea from Dembia."

"And the birds."

"And the birds. Are you interested in seeing the cloth, too?"

Serena frowned, her mouth full of blueberries. "Why?"

He smiled slowly. "Well, if you like it, you can take some back. Have dresses made." He saw her scowl deepen. "It's good fabric, Serena. Chances are you would have requested it from your seamstress. Cashmere from Kiddock. Lawn and serge from Oqui. Izmaruthen batiste dyed bright red with cochineal. That should interest you."

"I can't return to Zoicite with gifts," she said lightly, her eyes on the ledger. She felt him study her for a long moment, her cheeks growing warm, but refused to look up at him.

"Of course not," he said finally with a nod. "Ready to see the birds?"

The marmar and marmoui birds were closely related and their primary differences were size and characteristic color patterns. Marmars were generally larger with combinations or red, orange and yellow, blue, green and yellow, or blue, red and purple. They were popular on the mainland, but not far north as Jorz Baed or Mortania. Even birds in the upper regions of Cataduke were inclined to a high mortality rate due to the cold.

Marmoui were much like a scaled-down version of the marmar and came in even more color patterns. The most expensive were ones with seven or more colors, except in Izramuth and Luresia, where two-tone birds, especially blues, brought the best prices.

Serena stood center on the deck, looking anxiously into the reed and bamboo cages at the noisome birds. The wild array of colors was breathtaking and she interviewed each cage leisurely. More cages, stacked four high, amounted as the crew brought them from the hold. Ordinarily the birds would never have been stored below deck, but the high winds of the storm demanded extra precautions.

She couldn't imagine how the crew had managed to unload the victim ship that night with such winds. She settled at one cage, crouched, and then jerked her hand away as a sharp black beak snapped. A line of blood surfaced from the back of her hand. She mumbled a low oath at the lone, screeching marmar in the cage.

"Did he get you?" Darien asked, suddenly beside her. He rattled the cage until the bird opened its wings and hissed menacingly.

Serena covered her hand instinctively with her fingers. "Slightly."

He took her hand and looked at it. "Bit you. Usually they claw; the smaller ones like to bite." He called to Brons in another language and the boy went to the cabin.

"It's all right," she excused, but Darien didn't relinquish her hand.

"You still need something on it," he said as Brons returned with a damp cloth. Darien wrapped it around her hand and knotted it at the palm. "Leave that on for a while. They carry a lot of diseases from the Islands. Things you don't want to get."

"Delucian?" She closed her hand testily, feeling a slight sting and a strange drawing sensation from the bite. "What's on it?"

"Just clove oil. And yes, they are from Delucian." He looked to where Lucas was standing with two other men. "Be careful, Serena. Don't put your face anywhere near them. They'll go for your eyes."

She nodded as he left, content to focus her attentions on the marmoui. She marveled at them, finding no two with the same colorings. Three had seven different colors, she counted, and another eight. At the end of the last row in the second cage from the top were four birds together speaking what she recognized to be Delucian.

She put a hesitant finger to one of the talking birds, ready to draw it back. The bird hobbled closer, chirping foreign words and laughing. The other three birds were soon clamoring for Serena to stroke their feathery heads, too. A shadow fell over them and she looked up to see Darien had returned.

"Are they tame?" He bent to study the marmoui.

"Yes, and they talk in Delucian. This one's the bravest." She rubbed the first bird's scarlet neck. "He's been owned by someone."

"We're docking in Amstead tomorrow," he said, watching the bird move its head against her finger. Its black eyes closed in contentment. "It'll be too cold to take them to Cold Rock."

"But they have tropical birds in Cataduke," she debated. "Cold Rock is just short of the border, and it's summer yet."

"True," he agreed, "but birds go best by land that far north."

"How long will we be in Amstead?"

"Just long enough for an auction or whatever kind of market we can find." He considered offering to take the friendly marmoui to the cabin for her, but decided against it. He knew she wouldn't accept it. "Do you want to go ashore there?"

Hopefulness leapt into her eyes, but her words were cautious. "You would let me?"

"I don't see why not, as long as you don't try anything foolish." One of the crew called to him and Darien looked that way, then back to Serena, grinning at the timid smile she attempted to hide. "Think about it."

There was no thinking involved on Serena's part. Any chance to get off the ship she had been stranded on for nearly two weeks was welcome. She didn't know or care what kind of town Amstead was, so long as it was dry.

To her disappointment, however, Darien didn't take her into town with him when they docked mid-morning that day. He explained he had business to tend and couldn't keep her under guard in the busy port.

Serena didn't try to gain his favor by promising not to run away. Instead she spent the long absence playing a solo game of Bull and Lion and reading from the chapbook she'd found in the office. Darien had left the door open and she felt satisfied this was progress of some sort. All the windows were bolted shut, but at least she had the freedom of two rooms. She took the chapbook and pearl fan to the bench seat, twisting her hair into a length and pushing it over her shoulder, trying to ignore the growing heat enveloping the rooms.

Darien returned shortly after noon as the cabin reached uncomfortable temperatures. He appraised the deep blue jacquard dress she wore with blatant skepticism.

"Where are the beads?"

Serena shook her head and started to speak, but he was already searching through the top drawer of his closet.

"Here. Put them on." He held out the strand of lapis and pearl.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "I can't wear those," she maintained. "We already talked - "

"Either wear them or stay here."

For a moment she just stared at him as he held the necklace, raising an eyebrow when she deliberated. With a glare she took the beads and went to her armoire. She connected the clasp behind her neck and flipped her hair out, catching Darien watching from the middle of the room. _They did match the dress nicely_, she admitted to herself, admiring them in the full length mirror. She turned.

"Satisfied?"

Darien looked her over, nodding with appreciation. He offered her his arm.

"Oh, no," Serena said, stepping away from him and pulling on the shawl. "I'm not walking around with you like some callow milk maid."

"Would you prefer a goat on a rope? I'm not letting you loose on the town," he said irritably, beckoning with his hand. She shook her head at him. He sighed. "If you want to get off this ship for a while you'll have to play by my rules, Serena."

She hesitated only a few more moments, sighing.

Amstead was a fishing port, but also welcomed a variety of trade traffic from the northern countries and an occasional ship from Randalia or Izramuth. The streets were lined with open air vendors proffering ready-to-eat food and standard market supplies as well.

Serena realized how hungry she was when Darien bought them poppy seed cakes, rolls of sausage with mint leaves and a sour dough tied in a bow. She learned the birds would be auctioned the next day at the edge of town and some of the _Nor's_ other cargo would also be put up for sale then. Other items, like the bolts of nankeen, crates of ginseng, vanilla, and bamboo would bring better prices farther north, particularly in Jorz Baed, which carried a trade embargo with many countries.

To her surprise, Darien took her to a couple of merchants selling apparel. After inspecting many choices, he purchased four skirts, two day chemises, a flannel gown and cote for sleeping, a lavishly embroidered black bodice, a wool cape and a pair of soft doeskin bootlets decorated with tiny beads that reached to her calf.

When Serena protested, reminding him she would only be on the _Eliana Nor_ for just over a week more, at the most, he quieted her by describing the northern climates. There was truth to Cold Rock's name.

"You've never experienced cold like you'll see next week, Serena," he warned, watching her sulk at the bundle of clothing the merchant was to deliver to the ship later that day.

She opened her mouth to ask a question, but decided against it.

He saw her pause. "What were you going to say?"

She bit her lower lip, shaking her head. "Nothing."

He nodded, and they headed back out into the busy pedestrian traffic.

Serena halted on the warm street where young girls were skillfully working beading looms a measure across at a vendor's stall. Tiny heishe beads of red coral, pink and white shell, malachite and sugilite formed an intricate pattern of flowers under one girl's nimble fingers. She looked with amazement at other finished mosaic designs on ornate belts, bodices and even a few side-laced vests and a jerkin. Some of the girls were about her age, some younger. She saw Darien watching with interest one of the younger black haired girls who worked the loom.

_As if she was familiar to him,_ she thought, watching his dark eyes follow her movements, seeing his jaw tighten. She considered asking him, but didn't. He looked back to her, catching her attention.

"You know her?" she blurted. She immediately regretted showing any interest.

He shook his head as they moved along the street. "No."


	7. Chapter 7

**Satin Hostage - Chapter Seven**

The afternoon passed too quickly for Serena and the excursion into town over by early evening. They ate at a food house serving various fish and pickled dishes, all the while Darien's attention on her hands and how she sat on the bench, looking for signs of attempted escape. She behaved admirably, he admitted, and as the sun headed westward they returned to the _Nor_.

Within the hour, however, Darien went back into town, and Serena was again alone. She guessed at the nature of his late hour business. Even so, she rationalized, hanging the new clothes in the armoire, sometimes his company was better than being completely isolated.

She removed the strand of lapis beads, watching them hold the lamplight from the table. They were beautiful and would match the cobalt skirt of heavy silk. She allowed a small smile as she put the necklace on the latch of his closet. She opened her own wardrobe and looked again at the skirts. Aside from the blue silk trimmed with silver at the hem were a dark green velvet, a gold and bronze brocade and a soft fine crash linen of burgundy.

She put them back in the armoire as contrasting thoughts chased through her mind. The clothes Darien provided her were more than adequate - not the wardrobe she thought a captor would supply a hostage.

In a way she was angry he gave any attention to her manner of dress; it was not his concern. But, in other, rarer moments, she found herself reluctantly flattered by the same actions.

She changed into the lilac slip and pulled on the lilac pelisse, then sat at the table and set up the game pieces to play alone.

"If nothing else comes of this ordeal," she said wryly to the black amber cat, "I'll beat Zoicite next time we play."

Darien had left the window locked open slightly and music drifted in from the dockside. She turned up the oil lamp as sunset overcame the room. She looked through the small opening of window, unable to see much except a few women and a man loitering near a torch lit corner. The man played a fluted horn and one of the women shook a tambourine as two others danced. Soon a small crowd had gathered from the tethered ships. Serena watched them for a long while, forgetting the game before her.

Two of them women were well past their youth, but the last, one of the dancers, was about Serena's age. The men crowding around the foursome pulled at the scarves the dancers wore, making them move faster. Serena's head snapped around as the door opened and Darien came into the bedchamber.

"Set it up for two," he told her with a nod at the game.

She did so as he stowed the scabbard and unlaced his tunic. "How much colder will it get by Cold Rock?"

"Much." He opened all the windows and dropped the reed blind on the one by the table.

She could still see out between the reed slats, but felt comfortable knowing she was not too visible to eyes looking in. Unconsciously she pulled the pelisse tighter.

"Are you cold?" Darien asked.

"No."

He poured two pewter goblets full and left the bottle on the table.

Now one of the questions she'd wanted to ask earlier in town demanded to be voiced. "Will there be snow?"

"In Cold Rock? I doubt it. Not yet." He took a drink from his cup and motioned for her to make the first move. "Have you ever seen snow?"

"No. Uncle Methuen said it did snow in the valley once," she recalled, pushing an agate elephant one space.

"It might snow some off the coast of Cataduke, if the Nya Gakari winds are early this year," he explained. He made his move. "The weather changes faster at sea."

The music outside was broken by a woman's shrill laugh and she looked out at the assembly. One of the women rebuked a man who held a scarf she had worn.

"Your move."

Serena looked back at the game. "Are they whores?"

Darien shook his head, laughing at her bold choice of the word. "You're a brazen firefly, Dey Maeyen."

"I am not brazen or a bug," she denied, moving the elephant again.

He shrugged. "They're probably whores, or something similar. Gypsies. They're certainly not callow milk maids."

She scowled at him, partly because he moved a green aventurine frog across from her amethyst rabbit. "Is that where you went?"

He looked at her with overt amusement. "Me? No, I don't know any milk maids."

She sniffed. "I didn't think so." Her frog took his owl. "How fortunate they are."

"Come now, Serena," he said easily. "Admit it. This whole _interruption_ could be a lot worse." He held up a hand as she started to speak. "Your husband has promised to meet my demands; you're unhurt, if irritated, and you'll be on your way home in a week and a half. Maybe less."

Her eyes dropped from his and she sullenly moved a jasper camel. "You shouldn't be so smug."

"Why not?"

Her eyes dropped to the game. "Because that's when things go wrong; when you think they're under control." She tasted the red wine testily.

"What could go wrong?" His turtle took her jackal.

"There were fatalities at the Ibereth mine."

Darien nodded gravely. "I have thought about that."

She did not press the subject. She wasn't sure she wanted to know her future if Zoicite had nothing to exchange for her. She would find out too soon, should that be the case. She took a longer drink of the wine, wishing for distraction.

"Do you miss him?"

Thoughts of her ransom fled her mind. "Who?"

"Who do you think, Serena? Your future husband." He chuckled, watching a blush rise over her cheeks.

"At this moment?"

He studied her incredulously. "Yes, now. Or ever. Have you ever missed him?"

"Of course I have. Do. I miss him whenever he's gone," she said automatically, reaching for her wine again.

"You're lying."

Her hematite lion moved across from his bull. "Oh, and I'm sure you've been truthful with me."

"I have."

She eyed the board and laughed, her sudden smile disarming. "If you say so, Captain." Her lion took his bull. She looked at him triumphantly. "I win."

"All right. You do." Darien refilled her half empty cup against her protest and set up the game pieces again. "Let's see how lucky you are this time."

"You can't say that was -" Serena stopped herself. "Did you let me win?" she asked shrewdly, her smile dissolving.

"Of course not."

"You did."

"By Tow, woman, why would I let you win? You won. Don't needle me with it. Now take your turn," he added, grinning at her victory. He finished his wine and poured more as she debated her move.

Serena wanted to ask the other question, unsure why it pressed upon her mind. Maybe it was the wine that edged her query. "Did you know that girl at the beading loom in the market today?"

Darien watched her take her turn. "The one with black hair and the red apron?"

She nodded, awaiting his answer with more anticipation than she thought she should have felt.

He chuckled. "No."

"She reminded you of someone?" _Hold your tongue_, she told herself.

He nodded.

"My ransom?"

He nearly said _yes_, but decided to leave Raye out of the conversation. "Is that what you're heading toward, Serena?"

"You did know her."

"I don't know her." He took his turn. "Who is your retainer, for the betrothal?"

Her eyes flicked to his, a smile hinting about the corners of her mouth. "Do you want to steal her too?"

He growled, watching her take her move. "Do you have a younger sister?"

"I thought you knew all about our families," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Stop being coy and answer me." His horse took her black amber cat off the board, bringing a frown to her lips.

"I have no retainer." She read the disbelief on his face. "I was a healthy child. There was no reason to name a second."

He nodded. "Good."

Serena moved her frog across from his horse. "Why would it matter?"

"It doesn't." The music from the street had changed to a faster rhythm and the tambourine rang off the ship hulls in the warm night air. He saw Serena's eyes go to the open window, a wistfulness in them. _For all her hard edges,_ he thought, _she's still a forlorn, unaffected girl in so many ways, alienated in her husband's country._ He scowled, realizing his raid on the valley had destroyed when she called not only home, but her entire surrogate world.

"Your move," she said, her eyes going to the game when she discovered his intent study of her.

He pushed the camel of petrified wood a space. "Have you been back to Izramuth since you left?"

She tried to smile, but it turned out sad. "No. But my mother sends letters."

"With all the ships Maeyen owns he hasn't let you visit home?"

"My home is the valley," she said pointedly. She moved a peridot lizard only to immediately lose it to his horse. "Zoicite said we may visit sometime after we're married."

He shook his head. "It won't happen. You'll be too busy having brats."

She frowned, moving her elephant and took his opposing piece. She held up the crystal figure. "What is this?"

"A seal. Uh, it's a sort of large, flippered ... whiskered," he paused, shrugging, "otter-like thing. They live in the water off northern Nya Gakari and Kiddock." He tapped the opposing seal of black onyx. "And they're usually black."

Serena finished her wine and put her hand over the cup this time when he tried to fill it. She looked contentedly to the menagerie of stone figures she'd collected. Two more moves and she would take his bull. She bit her lower lip, debating her next words.

"Thank you for the new clothes, Darien. They're very nice."

"Your appreciation is noted," he said with a short chuckle, studying the board and seeing few options.

"I do mean it."

"My pleasure."

She took his horse, and he moved the bull across from her lion. She turned the lion on its side. "I would have won with the next move," she told him needlessly.

"I know. Want to try again?"

She shook her head, pulling the pelisse closed. "Can I go with you to the auction tomorrow?" she asked hopefully, trying not to sound as eager as she felt.

"You don't want to go there, Serena," he said, watching her put the game pieces in their pouch. "It will be loud, dusty, and it could take half the day." He saw her eyes cloud with disappointment. "Maybe you'd be more interested in going to a bathhouse."

She stopped putting the stone animals away, looking to him. "Are you serious?"

"I know these accommodations aren't adequate for a woman," he admitted with a sigh, gesturing to the room. The brightness slipping over her face pleased him. "Of course I'm serious, Serena. This was supposed to be over in Leneau."

She nodded slowly. "Yes. That would be very nice."

"Good. We'll find a bathhouse before the auction."

The next day dawned hot and thick, and by the time Serena reached the streets of Amstead with Darien her teal gauze dress was warm and limp. She let the shawl slip from her shoulders under the weight of the beaded fringe as they passed a variety of bathhouses in the village.

Darien led her past the dubious common bathing pools and crowded private bathhouses and paused at a third choice. Serena looked up at the sign over the arched doorway, frowning at the foreign words carved into the stone.

"This is it," Darien said, ushering her in.

She stepped into the cool fitted stone interior, welcoming the change in temperature. A young dark skinned Dembian woman greeted them with a bow and spoke in a language Serena didn't understand. Darien replied in the same and the woman waved over an even younger Dembian girl, who smiled at Serena and took her arm.

"I'll meet you here in an hour," Darien told Serena in Izmaruthen, to her surprise. "Don't try anything foolish."

The Dembian attendant tugged at her arm, chatting in what Serena decided was Catadukian. The changing chamber was cool, but not clammy, and several young girls were attending other patrons. Serena disrobed and let the girl take her clothes, then wrapped a large ecru towel around herself. She peeked into the adjoining bathing pool, then back as the attendant exited the changing room with her clothes.

Serena started to say something, then stopped and followed to the beaded curtain that led to the bathhouse entry. The attendant handed the clothes to Darien. He smiled and said something Serena couldn't hear, and then went into the men's areas.

She sighed, trying to dismiss the ebbing frustration, and went into the bathing pool room. Darien certainly wasn't taking many chances with her limited freedom.

She joined the other women at the water's edge, easing onto the slate and white marble steps. A dozen different tongues met her ears, and she realized she may not be the only visitor that would be watched closely by the smiling Dembian attendants.

Serena set the towel to the side and shrugged off thoughts of Darien and returning to the _Nor._ She lowered into the willow flower scented pool, closing her eyes as the waters met her chin, and then submerged completely. When she surfaced she smoothed her hair back and opened her eyes. The Dembian attendant looked at her curiously from the pool side.

"Serena?" the girl said stuntedly.

"Yes?"

The girl's smile broadened and she pulled aside her skirt to sit on the first step. She held up a ceramic jar and spoke, but Serena couldn't understand her. Finally the girl touched her hair and pointed to her and Serena nodded. She moved to the step and sat before the girl.

"How much did he tip you to take my clothes?" she asked when the attendant had finished pouring the contents of the jar through her hair. The girl only shrugged and smiled, working the shampoo into her hair gently. Serena tried two other languages, and then gave up when communicating proved fruitless. She guessed the girl understood at least Embrossen, but had been paid well enough to feign ignorance. She closed her eyes to the soft torchlight that played off the colored glass intaglio that divided the women's bathing from the men's areas.

At least she was off the ship, and absent from Darien, even if only by a glass division.

Later that evening Serena watched the city lights get smaller as the _Eliana Nor_ slipped away from the harbor. Across the dark waters an occasional shout or laugh could still be heard, but those were muted by the slap of sails caught by the wind.

She stood at the bow, beneath her coming sounds of the crew arguing in the forecastle. The quarrel surfaced on deck and Darien was called in to mediate. Serena watched the mild confrontation, which seemed to be over a bottle of Jorz Baed rum. She looked back out over the waters and pulled her shawl tighter.

Darien's words were still on her mind - had been since she soaked in the pool at the bathhouse. Despite efforts to drive her capture from her mind, even momentarily as she sat in the scented waters, she realized her predicament had means to become either a mere interruption, as he said, or worse than she ever thought. On one hand the abduction could be viewed as an unplanned glimpse into the vastly different life of a pirate for a few weeks.

_It was certainly a varied livelihood,_ she admitted to herself as the wind stirred the folds of her pale green sateen dress. The smell of cinnamon still lingered in the cargo hold, but now it was muted by vanilla. The birds were gone, too, and she thought with fondness of the vibrantly colored fowl. Never had she seen so many bright hues blended by feathers and bobbing heads.

Nor, in all honesty, could she ignore the new sense of freedom she found on the azure Rellion waters. _Not entire freedom,_ she thought, but a certain unhindered feeling of being on the water. Away from the estate, unbounded by the moat.

"Six years, Mother," she said softly, lowly, knowing the crew couldn't hear her. "Six years, and now the rest of my life with Zoicite."

For six years she had docilely spent her pubescence in the Sol Min Valley surrounded by maids and servants, interspersed with short appearances from her semi-uncle and a man she was going to marry. She hadn't been entirely truthful with Darien, she knew, but that didn't bother her nearly as much as the admission of fooling herself.

Serena didn't see the night waters shifting beneath her unfocused gaze, her thoughts retreating despite efforts to bring them back. When she was nine years old her mother told her she was going to marry a man from Embrosse and would go to live there. Serena had nodded carelessly as her mother fixed her hair and went about her play with Mina as usual. She thought little about it until her eleventh birthday, when she learned it was time to make the voyage to her new home. With many tears and tight embraces, her mother had let her go that day to the huge ship in the harbor. She recalled Mina's confused questions to her father, whose cheeks shone with silent tears at her departure. Her mother had sobbed openly.

To Uncle Methuen's house Serena had brought gifts from her father, her personal items, her nanny Mya, and herself. She was greeted not only by her new uncle, but a teen boy very curious about her. That first year was long. She already knew the language. Both Izmaruthen and Embrossen had been spoken in her home since birth. She adjusted well to the new customs of Embrosse, befriending a few of the servant's children her age. Unfortunately, Mya had been ill during the voyage and never fully recovered. Serena had wept more at the nanny's passing than at her Uncle Methuen's four years later. Mya had been her only tie to her homeland.

Since then Serena had focused on making the valley her home. She sighed, sitting on a crate and leaning her back against the bow rail, pulling a strand of blonde hair in her fingers, looking at the ends that curled over her fingers. She never fooled herself into believing she loved Zoicite, nor did he ever claim to love her, but what bothered her now was that she was willing to squander the rest of her life in a matrimonial captivity. She couldn't blame this whole line of thinking on Darien's raid, for she'd had misgivings as her wedding neared for a while now.

Darien's words a few nights ago had been a little too true. Many were the nights in the valley as she had sat on her balcony wishing her future would be more to her design rather than a slight scratch of ink on parchment.

She knew her father meant well, but how she missed them!

And surely there was more to courtship. In desperation she had searched for a hint of romance when she viewed a life with Zoicite, but all she saw was a luxurious stability.

Serena swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath. She sagged against the ship rail, glad she was barely visible from the main deck. _These are the thoughts of an imaginative child,_ she scolded herself. _A sweet story for other young girls._ She closed her eyes as tears formed and turned her face to the rising wind.

"Ready to go in?" Darien asked suddenly from her side.

"Yes." Serena flinched at his voice. She stood and busily smoothed her skirt under his attention, keeping her eyes lowered.

"You were crying."

She gave a short, nervous laugh, wiping her eyes. "No. I caught a spray. That's all."

Serena went quickly to the cabin with his escort. Once there she took her slip from the armoire behind the changing screen, still avoiding Darien's study, and chided herself for entertaining such inappropriate notions. Zoicite was a wealthy man, by any standards, and he was not old and frail like so many affluent successors.

She pulled the night slip over her head and sat on the embroidered stool behind the screen, glad to be as alone as she could get in the room. The sound of the creaking ship and growing wind were interrupted by Darien speaking to Brons, but she made no effort to listen. Sparse lamplight that reached behind the screen flickered shadows on the walls.

_Zoicite is an attractive man,_ she thought, and _he mastered the accepted etiquette and grace his position demanded. _She couldn't quite call this charm, not when it was learned mannerisms. Women liked him, especially matrons with eligible daughters, and on many occasions Serena had seen furtive glances cast his ways when they attended banquets together.

She had noticed the same covetous looks from women when she had went through Amstead with Darien. _Their attentions were well-found,_ she thought, leaning against the ship's hull, her finger tracing a flower on the black screen. He, too, was a personable man, something that had not escaped her a few times since she had been aboard the _Nor_. It was easy to notice the obvious, like his strong build, but it took longer to observe his eyes. She could compare them to nothing but the color of a dark, stormy sea.

_And manners to match_, Serena told herself abruptly. How could she put Zoicite and that, that _pirate_ in the same thought? She frowned, rebuking herself soundly, wishing she had brought the pearl fan.

"Serena?"

She flinched at the nearness of Darien's voice, but stayed behind the screen. On the other hand, she debated, finishing her thoughts from the deck, if Zoicite had no one to exchange for her, this mere interruption of her life could easily lead to a very dismal future. She collected herself and came out from behind the screen as Darien was about to look over it.

"Are you sick?"

"No."

He glimpsed the silk slip she wore. "Do you feel up to a game tonight?"

"No, thank you." She felt uneasy and knew it was because of her previous comparison rather than his candid attention.

He didn't move when she tried to pass. "You're very quiet tonight," he remarked when she tried to step around him, his tone accusatory.

She attempted a tremulous smile. "I'd think that would please you."

"It's unlike you." He let her pass. "You usually have some disapproving comment ready."

"Perhaps I see no reason to make one." She arranged the clothes unnecessarily in the armoire, wondering at her trembling fingers. "You think I'm always contrary?"

He shook his head and unrolled the hammock. "No. Sometimes you're even quite agreeable. When you choose to be." When he turned she was already in the bed, pulling sheets up to her chin.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Serena."

Darien turned out the lights and lay down in the hammock. _There's been something uncannily quiet about her all evening,_ he thought, _and she had been crying on deck._ _Maybe her visits to town contented some yearning in her._ After all, she'd been deprived the company of women for quite a while, something he hadn't predicted when he set about this venture. _Something Raye and Ami would have certainly thought of,_ he knew, had he told them his intentions. He hadn't told them for many reasons. It would have led to a lecture from every female in the Montaro house, including his cousin Lita. Next to Raye's, Lita's were the worst lectures.

He sighed. Seeing the black haired girl in the market at Amstead had made him think of his sisters, particularly Raye. He frowned, thinking back on Raye's concern when she told him her suspicions that terrible day. It made him wish he'd visited home more often instead of letting so much time— so much _valuable_ time - pass. The sound of Ami's low weeping that night had played on his mind for a month, even as he made plans for the Maeyen household in the Sol Min Valley.

He focused sharpened on Serena's form beneath the blanket on the bed. Perhaps marriage to Zoicite was bringing on a bout of homesickness that would have surfaced despite the problem Darien had added to her life.

He watched the moons' light fall on the bed, stretching shadows far into the room. Her still form initiated an ardency he had felt several other times since she had been on the _Nor_. With her had come the constant scent of a faint fragrance that didn't rely on heavy oils or perfumes. It was only one of several changes her presence had brought. Oddly, he felt a growing reluctance for her release in Cold Rock.

He'd admitted that to himself only today as he watched her move behind the semi-opaque intaglio dividing them at the bathhouse. Somehow her lithe form had distinguished itself from the other women bathing, and he had made a constant effort to curb his fascination. He'd been close enough to have overheard parts of her conversation with the Dembian bathing attendant.

Darien sighed, pleased with the scent of jasmine hanging in the bedroom. The constant proximity of another man's affianced wife had provided him with an unwilling companionship he hadn't expected.

In just over a week, however, she would be only a memory, replaced by a much more tangible presence.


	8. Chapter 8

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Eight**

For three days the _Eliana Nor_ galloped northward to Cold Rock. As Darien predicted, the weather grew from chilly to crisp in a matter of days. It didn't snow, but Serena's breath frosted when she ventured onto deck one night to watch the stars.

She never believed weather could change so swiftly until witnessing it herself. Even Darien admitted the fluctuation was extreme. Actually, the days were warm enough, although not balmy like those of the southern Embrosse interior, but an acceptable transition into autumn. Early mornings and nights ranged from uncomfortably cool to downright cold, which Serena didn't like. The temperature changes were more radical farther out to sea, Darien had explained, and she cared not to experience that.

She now stood at the port rail with her eyes lifted skyward. The dark blue heavens were littered with winking stars and had caught the attentions of the pirates too. Three of the largest, brightest stars formed a clear triangle. The stars were known as Viin, Pael and Delvane, and they formed the triangle called Arisse every year, and marked the advent of harvest in Embrosse. In Izramuth Queen Menat had even named her oldest daughter Arisse. They remained brilliant as the dark skies swirled with clouds lit violet and fuchsia, making the ship's deck wash a pale pink and lavender.

"It'll be good fortune," she heard one of the crewmen say to another at the main derrick. "A ship taken in Arisse is double the haul, half the wounds."

Serena looked away from the conversation as it turned more graphic. Most in the crew were eager to find a victim ship before it faded in three days. Their anticipation was contagious and Serena found herself anxious with them for unknown reasons.

When the colorful haze of clouds slowed and finally dissipated altogether Darien escorted Serena into the cabin. She went to the office hearth where a fire burned and held her chilled hands to the warmth. Behind her Darien turned a key in the door as he left, a comforting sound that had once made her furious. That was before she had fully understood her position and the dangers of a sole woman on a pirate ship.

In the bedchamber she hung the periwinkle shawl in the armoire and unlaced her boots. Quickly she undressed behind the screen, shivering in the corner where little heat ventured. She pulled the mauve flannel cote on over the matching gown and fastened its ties.

All evening something had nagged at her thoughts, something unassuming in and of itself, but weightier when viewed under other light. She took the chapbook and pushed a chair to the fireplace, but didn't read. She only sat and opened the book, gazing into the flames at the bedchamber hearth.

Darien had said abducting her was not his initial approach to Zoicite, Serena recalled. He had tried other ways, including bribery, but failed. He even said these attempts had worsened conditions for his interest.

"Too vague a description of my ransom," she said to the fire burning before her. "But Zoicite seems to know what he wants."

As she thought more about Zoicite's actions that afternoon she realized he knew exactly what Darien demanded without really asking and seemed more worried than angry. She rested her feet on the warm hearth bricks, smiling momentarily at the welcome heat. Her earlier ideas of Darien's interest being an escaped slave or criminal fell away. The bounty would have to be pretty steep to justify a failed bribe, and he adamantly denied participating in slavery.

Her thoughts turned naturally to a woman. Men took strange, drastic measures where a woman was concerned. Perhaps even a pirate could be moved by a soft voice and a sweet smile.

She sighed, watching the fire. "How would a woman figure into the picture?" Her thoughts flitted back to the black haired girl they'd seen in Amstead. "It must be a woman somehow."

The next day a ship was spotted, barely within scope view, and the _Eliana Nor_ changed course to intercept it that night. Serena overheard the instruction when she was on deck watching two jaegers tail and dive among the seagulls. She'd learned much in her weeks onboard. She knew the vessel's square masts could be turned to catch any breeze, and could even be rigged in ways to allow the ship to sail nearly straight into the wind. The _Nor_ did this now, in fact, using the cold winds of Nya Gakari to drive it farther north.

She had also learned to wave at the silver dolphins that leaped beside the ship hull. A few even returned her gesture by bobbing their beaked heads or chattering. The gray-belly whales grew scarcer as the ship headed to colder waters, and Serena thought herself lucky to see one every two or three days.

"I see you've made friends," Darien said, joining her at the ship's rail.

Serena nodded, watching the dolphins along the side of the ship's hull. Her eyes went to the horizon where the ship was a mere blot in the far distance. "Must you attack that ship?"

He nodded. "This one, yes, Serena."

She bit back the words she wanted to say. _A coward's way of thievery,_ she thought. "Have you ever lost a fight?"

He grinned. "Of course. Not many."

She frowned. "If you lost, why do you still have the _Eliana Nor_? Why didn't they arrest you? Or hang you?"

He chuckled, bringing a confused look to her face. "There are levels of losing, Serena Bella Ver."

Darien looked to the center of the ship where an argument was arising among the crew. "If you have any sensibilities, you'll not be praying for us to lose while you're aboard."

She scowled as he left and joined the crewmen who were building in argument, and then looked back at the horizon.

Late that afternoon Serena could more easily see the intended victim ship as an enlarging dot on the horizon. As early evening drew on it became a discernable object, but wouldn't be within range until well after dark. She idled away the time by reading what she could of the chapbook, then decided to ready for bed.

As she was about to retire Darien came into the bedchamber, a tense look on his face. Serena slipped the flannel cote back on expectantly.

"We're hitting the _Gorzai Queen_ now."

Her face fell, and then the urgency of recognition leapt into it. She followed him as he went to the armory case. "Could you let it go?"

He didn't pause strapping on the second weapons belt. "No. I told you I would sink any Maeyen ship I encounter."

"Oh, but please," she said desperately. She reached to touch his sleeve, but withdrew her hand instead. "Not this one. It has ... I ... Can't you spare it, Darien?"

He frowned, searching her eyes. "Who's on it?"

"Who?" Serena repeated. Her hands fell to her sides. "Well, I don't know. A crew, I suppose."

"No one you know?"

"I don't know anyone in Nya Gakari," she said stoutly.

Darien shoved the gauche into his belt and held a long dagger out to her. "What does the _Queen_ carry that interests you?"

She stood straighter, and then shrugged lopsidedly, not wanting to voice the answer. "I don't know the cargo of every ship Zoicite owns."

"Why your concern?" A new regard crossed his face. "Is your family coming for the wedding?"

"No." She frowned, her voice stiffening. "My concern is that you're attacking the property of my future husband."

His gaze shifted to each of her eyes. "You're lying."

The battle was not terribly long or fierce, but it was well past midnight by the time Darien returned to the cabin. The _Gorzai Queen_ carried a cargo of Nya Gakari soapstone, ink, chalk, and bicklath pelts, of Nya Gakari whiskey, weapons, bolts of canvas, and one other odd piece of merchandise Darien confiscated from the crew's jubilant and unruly brawl.

He flung open the bedchamber door, watching Serena jump at the outburst in the candle's low light. She stood ready with the poniard half raised until she saw him.

"Where's the rest of your trousseau?" he demanded.

Her eyes went to the bundle of wadded lace and satin in his hand. "You saved it," she breathed, unanswering.

"Where is the rest?" Darien repeated, crossing the room to her.

Serena stepped back, her spine against the armoire as she returned his demanding glare. "I, it already arrived. In the valley. I was waiting on the dress."

He held the material beneath her chin. "This was what you were worried about, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she said almost inaudibly.

His voice lost its caustic edge as he watched her features soften, her eyes going over the dress. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She touched its lace hem gently with hesitant fingers, almost unaware of him now. "I thought you would laugh."

He put the dress in her hands. "I see nothing funny about a wedding dress. Besides, it's too late. Your wedding was to be two days ago."

Abundant folds of lace, ruffles, and slick satin fell through Serena's fingers as she appreciated the Nyan workmanship, and she forgot to tell him it was actually three days ago. The stitching was fine and even, the pearls sewn at the drooping collar an opalescent cream. She was conscious of Darien still very near and looked up to see his eyes on the dress also.

"Thank you," she said quietly, gathering the dress close to her as a possessiveness gripped her. "Thank you for not letting them have it."

For a moment Darien couldn't look away from the unveiled despair and hope in her eyes. It wasn't until her chin tilted and the familiar effrontery hinted in her expression that he nodded and left the room.

When he was gone Serena hugged the gown closer, seeking a comfort it couldn't offer. For a moment her eyes closed as mixed thoughts flew through her head. With determination she kept her mind only on the fact that she had the dress. She couldn't bear the image of pirates handling and tearing the dress she would wear for her wedding.

As much as the thought unsettled her, she couldn't bring herself to tell Darien what was on the _Queen_ when he'd asked. How could she appear to care more for a dress she would only wear once than the crew of the victim ship?

"He wouldn't care," she said dryly, hanging the gown on the armoire door to view. She turned up the lantern wick. She brushed the wrinkles from the satin, straightening a turned hem. "He's just a barbarian who could never understand anything that doesn't lead to bloodshed."

She didn't believe that, and she knew it. If it were true he would have rendered her the gown shredded and mauled, perhaps bloodied, if it reached her at all. As much as he mocked and despised her marriage arrangements, he must know what the gown meant to her.

She sighed, sitting distraughtly on the edge on the bed. The dress marked a change in her life she was uneager to encounter. Many nights she had lain awake in her bed in the valley thinking of what the wedding night entailed, and there was no pleasant expectation. The times events and banquets brought her and Zoicite together to act as an espoused couple their touches had been rehearsed and mechanical.

She shuddered unconsciously. She didn't anticipate his hollow embrace. If Zoicite had not taken a mistress already, he would soon. There had to be a passionate outlet somewhere, if not at home. Perhaps the idea of a lover for herself was not as preposterous as she told Darien it was.

Serena stood up suddenly. Unmarried yet and she was already thinking about being unfaithful!

She shook her head and put the dress in the closet. _If I was home in the valley I wouldn't be thinking like this,_ she told herself. _Too long on a ship of pirates._ That was it.

She turned the lantern down low and blew out the candle lamp, then crawled into bed. But some of these were not new thoughts. They were only more focused and too real lately, even before that terrible day in the garden.

The smell of scorched and burning wood grew strong and she knew it was from the _Gorzai Queen_ being torched. She closed her eyes tightly. She wanted Zoicite to rescue her from the _Nor_, but she really didn't want to go back to the valley with him, something she hadn't even thought until now, when she was away from the valley.

Oh, the valley was nice enough, with the grand, beautiful house and lovely gardens. But life as Zoicite's wife - that was different.

_He'll be gone a lot,_ she consoled herself hopefully. He would be busy with the mines, as before. After she produced two children –the average heir and a spare— he may even lose all interest in her bed. Vainly, she wasn't sure she liked the idea of that, either. She didn't want to be completely forgotten.

With a final sigh Serena hugged the second pillow close, buried her face in it, and denied herself any further thoughts.

Most prized of the raid on the _Gorzai Queen_ was not the whiskey, although the _Nor's_ crew took great pleasure in this commodity. Nya Gakari was known for many reasons: Its ruling family of idiots, a fertility and mortality rate beyond comprehension, and its metal smiths, resulting in the finest weaponry of the four continents.

The weapons were the first to catch the crew's collective eye and they were anxious to have it divided, but agreed to wait until daylight to examine the haul.

Serena didn't go out onto deck until noon when the sun was high and a south wind blew in, warming the too cool air. Evidence from the night's ravage was still about her. Pieces of burnt wood and flotsam hovered within sight of the _Eliana Nor_ and she quickly gave Darien back the scope when she recognized the debris.

She pulled the shawl closer, her gold and bronze skirt sweeping over the swaying deck. The wind was mild today, but she still preferred the heavier brocade to the gauze and silks. She sat on the short stair to the quarterdeck and looked out over the main deck, then upward.

They had neared land to a day's distance and the skies were filled with pellums, or sea lizards, as Lucas called them. As scavengers, they sought the refuse of sea battles, and their interest was in what lay just south of the _Nor_.

When the southern breeze changed abruptly to a stiffer western wind Serena took refuge in the cabin. She spent the afternoon before the hearth, reading the chapbook of sonnets and didn't realize the chill in the bedchamber until Darien entered.

"You're not cold?" he asked as he found kindling from the rack near the hearth and arranged it in the fireplace. "I didn't think this weather was your element."

"It isn't." She watched the flames lick slowly at the tinder.

"What are you reading that makes you forget the cold?"

She felt a defensiveness creep over her. "It wasn't the subject so much as translating it," she corrected.

"What are you reading, Serena?" He bent to put two larger pieces of wood on the growing fire.

"A poem." She closed the book when he stood and looked to her.

"Why are you so reluctant to answer?" When she hesitated he laughed easily at her discomfort, shaking his head. "Your husband certainly has a lot of work to do if he's going to carve a wife out of you. You're all cross-grain."

Her brow wrinkled. "You're no marvel of craftsmanship yourself," she said, the familiar lilt in her tone. She stood and left the fireplace and put the book on the table.

He grinned, refusing to take offense. "No, but at least I'm my own workmanship. No predestined print for _my_ life."

The comment sunk deeper than he knew, but Serena refused the retort that came to mind. Conversation with Darien could be taxing sometimes when she tried not to speak to him.

"It was a poem called _Song of my Lover's Heart_," she said levelly, pausing at the table and not looking at him.

He smiled, watching her adjust the oil lamp on the wall. The highlights in her hair danced with the flickering fire. "Do you like tea?"

"Yes."

He filled a pot with fresh water and hung it over the fire.

She glanced to him. "Can I shut the windows?"

"I'll get them."

Serena found two ceramic mugs, a brass pot and a tea net in a cupboard by the mantle as Darien slid the shutters closed. She set the tea net over the top opening of the tea pot on the marble rester on the table and added the black dried tea leaves to the net.

"Feel up to a game before supper?" he asked.

"Are you prepared to lose?"

He took the game board and bag of carved animals from the chest, which she noticed he now kept unlocked. "Just because you did it once doesn't mean it will happen again."

She set up the board at the table as he found a lighter shirt in his closet. She looked through the playing pieces. "There's a piece missing. Uh, I think it's one of the jaspers."

"Check in the trunk."

She went to the chest and knelt, looking through it until she located the jackal of tan with brown rings scattered over its back. "Here it is. He has a chipped ear."

Darien nodded. "He was like that when I got him."

She stood and looked up from the jackal, eyes resting on his arm as he pulled a shirt out of the closet drawer. For the first time she saw the mark near his shoulder clearly, and it made the blood run cold in her veins. She took a step closer, not believing what she saw.

He turned, the arm moving from her view, and saw a strange engrossment on her face. "Serena? What's wrong?"

She only shook her head. She reached for the bed post and missed it. Darien caught her as she nearly sank to her knees. He held her upright and she leaned against him, her hand fumbling on his arm.

"Where, where ... How did you get this?" Her hand paused on the mark.

He stood straighter, feeling her body stiffen, her fingers tighten. "Don't ask, Serena."

Her eyes narrowed at the mark and she tried to push away from him when she became aware of his embrace. His hold loosened, but he didn't let her go. A scowl came to her lips.

"That was the mark of my Uncle Methuen." Her fingers curled from his skin, both hands balling into fists as she twisted from him. "How did you get it? Tell me!"

He sighed, estimating the determination in her face. "You'd better sit down."

"Tell me, Darien."

"Sit down first."

Serena sat on the sea chest, watching with unmasked interest as he pulled on the shirt. "You knew my uncle."

He nodded, taking the bubbling pot of water from the fire and pouring it over the tea leaves in the net in the tea pot. "Unfortunately. You're going to want something stronger than tea."

"Tea is fine," she maintained. "Tell me."

He set a chair from the table backwards before her and sat down. "You'll hate me more for telling you, and you won't believe me anyway, Serena," he began steadily.

Her rigid posture leaned toward him. "That mark is a simplification of my uncle's device. I'd know it anywhere. He put it on all his seals, his banners. It was branded on his horses." Her eyes went to his covered arm. "That's not a brand or a tattoo. It's a scar."

He leaned forward and looked to each of her troubled eyes. "Let's not do this tonight. You're not ready to -"

"You said you would tell me, Darien," she reminded with false calmness, her fingernails making prints in her clenched palms.

"All right." He paused briefly to pour her tea, debating within himself, muttering in Randalian. He put a ceramic mug in her hands, and then sat down in the chair across from her. "Your Uncle Methuen ran his carnelian mines by slave labor," he said temperately, waiting for her objections. None came. "He had young boys picked up from the Delucian Islands, Randalia, Kiddock too. Not bought; stolen from beaches and piers."

Serena took a slow breath, searching for hints of deceit in his face. She found none. "That's a very general statement. And a false one. What would it have to do with you?"

He sighed in exasperation. "You want the personal side, Serena? Fine. I was twelve years old when the _Southern Hoshi_ confiscated me and eight other boys from a Trislen dock," he said sharply, watching her slight recoil. "For three months we were stuck in the belly of a leaking ship with about twenty others as more boys were collected. The water was so deep four of the smallest drowned. The rest of us, about sixty by that time, were taken to a mine outside Ibereth to chisel and haul carnelian for Methuen Maeyen. After four years, me and two others escaped. We made it to Cor Ten, where we went our separate ways." He shrugged. "That's it."

Serena looked down at her tea, the words replaying in her head. She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. Her attention went back to Darien dubiously. "That can't be true. Slavery has never been legal in Embrosse. Uncle Methuen couldn't hide slaves, not as many as it takes to run the mines."

"He has and did. You yourself recognized his mark." He stood up and put the chair back at the table. "You really didn't know?"

"Know?" she repeated, steadying the tea cup in her shaking hands. "It's impossible. How, how could he ever get away with it? King Thulgarde wouldn't allow it."

"Your king doesn't know." He leaned against a cupboard, arms crossed, appraising her agitation. "You think I'd cut that mark into my own arm to pretend the Maeyens were slavers?"

She shook her head, a sick feeling rising in her stomach. "That's why you really took me. To get revenge on the family. You don't want a ransom." She put the tea down and stood, trying to quiet a new trembling. "You _are_ taking me to the auction block! Oh, I knew - ″

"Sit down, Serena," he told her, taking her hands. She tried to step back, but he moved her to the table. "Here. Now sit down."

She let herself fold into the chair, a nauseated feeling overcoming her reasoning. He put an ivory cup before her and brought a bottle out of the cupboard. A strong smell met her nose.

"You are not going to an auction block, Serena Maeyen," he said briskly, then added: "Serena Bella Ver. I told you that already. Your captivity has nothing to do with my experience with your uncle."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" He sat across from her at the table and filled the other ivory cup from a dark bottle, then moved the game board aside. "I want something from your husband besides a sense of revenge."

Serena took a long, scorching drink of the caramel colored liquor, not caring what it was. "I don't know my uncle's business, but you cannot be accusing Zoicite of slavery, Darien. Whatever Methuen was, was ... his own crime, if it were to be true, but I know Zoicite, and he would never do anything so illegal. Or immoral," she said firmly. "If you're trying to blackmail him into a false confession, you're wasting your time."

"Blackmail," he repeated, shaking his head. "That's a good idea, but not what I want."

Her gaze dropped to her cup, unsure to even voice the query. "I've asked you before what my ransom is, but you wouldn't tell me," she said quietly. "Would you now?"

"If you don't believe your husband is a slaver you won't believe what I want for your return."

"Zoicite wouldn't slave. I know he wouldn't! We never had a slave in the house; only servants. Even Leana was paid," she recalled to herself, frowning at memories of the sharp-tongued maid. Another thought broke through her mind as she focused on him. "My father would never promise me in marriage to a slaver."

Darien nodded, refilling her cup. "Perhaps he didn't know of the Maeyen practice." He got up to build the fire that had dwindled as she contemplated the sparkle of flames on the brandy in her cup.

"I don't believe Zoicite is involved with slaves." There. She had to say it.

"Who do you think I want from the Lusson mine?"

She looked at the fire iron in his hand and shook her head. "A worker."

"A slave."

"Zoicite has no slaves. Methuen, perhaps," she allowed carefully, slowly. She licked her lips, frowning. "But not Zoicite."

"You're a stubborn, loyal girl, Serena," Darien said lowly, resuming his seat. "Zoicite will need that in a wife. Would you care to take a look at Brons' arm?"

This question made her wince, her eyes going to the brandy. "No. He'd lie for you."

"Yes, he would," he agreed, "but I wouldn't have to ask him to over this matter. Surely you'd recognize the cross and double arrows from Zoicite's seal."

Her nerve lagged, her fingers clutching the cup. Her attention went to the carnelian and onyx signet ring on her finger, the cross and double arrow insignia emblazoned on it. "I don't believe you. Zoicite would never stoop to slavery."

"I knew you'd refuse to believe it."

"Because it's not true. He wouldn't."

"And your uncle?"

She shook her head, hands falling into her lap in fists, her eyes rising only to his arm before going back to the table. "I, I don't know. Perhaps."

"Look at me, Serena." When she did not, Darien sat back in his chair. He sighed, then hooked a foot around the leg of her chair and pulled it closer to the table. This made her look up quickly. "I'm not holding you accountable for an old man's misdeeds. I told you already that my quarrel is with your husband."

She unclenched her knotted hands to take a drink. "I'm sorry," she said with rare humbleness, an odd helplessness replacing her loyalty. "I do believe Uncle Methuen was perhaps capable of keeping slaves. No sane man would have himself cu-marked as you are. At least, I suppose you are not insane. And I'm sorry he—"

"No, don't say it," he interrupted somberly, a hardness edging his tone. "You owe no apologies, dear Serena. Now, unless you can accept that Zoicite Maeyen is a slaver, we have no further reason to discuss your ransom."

The flash came back to her eyes, although noticeably duller than usual. "Uncle Methuen may have done something terrible, and I am ashamed and sorry, Darien," she said, culling what remained of her boldness, "but I will not believe Zoicite is involved with slavery."

"Your fealty is admirable," Darien said as someone knocked on the office door. "We'll leave it at that."

Serena flinched emotionally as Brons set the table a moment later. She couldn't look at the boy's face, an action she knew Darien noticed. She let him carry most of the conversation during supper, only contributing an occasional nod or reply, vaguely aware of the rain starting outside.

The meal held no appeal for her and moments after eating very little Serena couldn't recall what had been on her plate. She sat at the window bench, staring vacantly at the locked shutters, hearing the mild rain tap at them as her thoughts focused inward. To her relief, Darien had gone into the office to chronicle the _Gorzai Queen's_ plunder. He had invited her to sit in the other room, but Serena declined for reasons she didn't specify.

She changed into the night chemise as his revelation twisted her thinking into an entirely new direction. When Darien said Methuen ran the mines by slavery, she thought his next words would be that he had used the _Nor_ as a slave transport for the operation. That he himself had been a slave for Methuen was unimaginable. She unclenched her hands and let her thoughts go into a more personal avenue.

Too many questions and realizations coursed through her mind and Serena sat at the table. She hugged her knees closer, wrapping the flannel chemise over her feet. She couldn't believe her father would betroth her to a family of slave owners.

"It's not possible," she murmured. Never, even in the midst of slave-infested Izramuth, had they ever entertained the thought of forced labor in her father's house.

And the manner of slavery Darien had endured was not typical of Izmaruthen slaves. In her homeland the commonest of slaves were treated well, some even as servants who could buy their own freedom through indenturement. Tattooing was usually used for identification, and branding by coarser masters, but carving a mark was unheard of.

"Father can't know," Serena told herself, unaware of the candle struggling to stay lit in its melted wax on the table. The darkening room seemed to magnify Darien's story. "If father suspected Methuen of slavery he would have annul the engagement." She did not doubt that for a moment.

Her mind leapt back to memories of her uncle. He'd been a kind, generous man endowed with titles of influence and prestige by King Thulgarde. Never had there been a time of leanness in the household, and there had been no question of his business or personal affairs. Methuen's wife, Shayla, died before Serena arrived in the valley, but the woman's beauty was immortalized on portraits and reliefs all throughout the house.

She lit another candle at the table to replace the one that had nearly burned out, and then stood. In frustration she paced the worn wooden floor of the bedroom, her mauve cote tied tight making jerky sweeps as she turned. It did occur to her that Darien could be lying, but there was no mistaking the mark on his arm.

No one would go that far to prove a falsehood.

A queasiness grabbed at her stomach as the sight in her mind's eye. The mark had been cut deep enough to result in permanent scarring, and it was an old wound of many years. Darien would have been but a boy then, a scared twelve year-old ripped from his home. Now that was a new thought.

She had never considered him having a family - a mother. Until tonight he had only been a pirate, a barbarian, and a source of great annoyance. On impulse she took another bottle from the cupboard and found her ivory cup. She sat at the table and poured it full, taking a long drink of the molasses tinged liquor.

She picked up a green frog from the game they hadn't played. No wonder Darien hated her so much. Oh, he said he did not hold a grudge with her, but how could he not? She represented the Maeyen family. It would be sheer torment to house, feed, even favorably clothe the wife of an enemy. He had been civil enough, considerate in some areas, very unlike a pirate tending an enemy's interest.

"It wouldn't last," she told the frog game piece. "He won't continue this kindness. Even if Zoicite meets Darien's demands in Cold Rock."

She had no doubt Darien could still sell her or kill her and justify it a modest price for four tortuous years of his life. Reaching Cold Rock and Zoicite was no longer a guarantee of her freedom, not in view of tonight's revelation.

Serena finished the brandy and filled it again. It would have been better had he not told her, she decided. No; it would have been best had she not seen the mark. That was what started the whole mess. She could have married Zoicite in ignorance and spent her life quietly raising children.

That was what Darien had said, she recalled, absently pairing the game pieces with their matching counterparts on the board. He'd told her to keep her image of the Maeyen family intact, not to be too curious and be content to remain a dumb hostage. Instead she had insisted, demanded, to know.

"Like the cat in the old fable," she said lowly, looking to the black amber cat piece. Curiosity had killed a part of her.

_No,_ Serena thought again, _not a part of me._ Methuen's illegal practices did not affect her and Zoicite. To think that was too much like an admission of guilt, and she refused to think her affianced husband linked in any way to slavery.

There were other thoughts in her head, ones of Zoicite on the deck in Leneau talking about mine workers and how they had been transferred to the Lusson location. It hadn't occurred to her before how odd the sudden migration of workers and their families sounded, even to her. To uproot that many people, so collectively ...

Serena shook her head, drinking half the brandy, staring back at the gray and white howlite horse on the game board. It was only Zoicite's manner of speaking. Probably some workers had gone, others stayed behind to dig out the collapse, if it was worth it, and still others would find different occupations. No. Zoicite was not a slave owner, despite what Darien claimed.

Even she knew the Ibereth mine was the oldest of the Maeyen operations. She had heard several times from Zoicite that it was drying up. The workers would know that, too, and be prepared to move to another location. Zoicite had spoken of an interest in Casdane, Cataduke, but the mine there was unproven as yet.

In sudden culmination she understood why the Ibereth mine workers wouldn't be sent to Casdane. If Zoicite was open to the use of slaves, he need not hide the practice in Cataduke, a country known for the savagery of its human trade.

_No. Not Zoicite,_ she thought. _He wouldn't. He couldn't._

She knew it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Nine**

The next morning Serena awoke to a shaky stomach, aching head, and sour thoughts of the preceding night. She didn't go out on deck until after noon, and when she did, she wondered how the crew could continue as if nothing had changed.

_It's not their world that's been capsized,_ she knew. Only hers. But even Darien was the same. He acted no differently toward her. It was only new to her, not him.

With great effort Serena turned her thoughts to other matters, but found little interest in watching the jaegers and gulls battle over a fish one had dipped up from the sea's waves, or the large turtle one of the Delucian men hauled up from the waters. She discovered her attentions going repeatedly to Brons. The cabin boy had just entered his teen years, she guessed, and wasn't too familiar with the operation of the _Nor_, judging from his blunders and constant questions to Lucas and the boatswain.

"New since Ibereth?" she wondered, mimicking the small voice echoing in her head. She shook it from her mind.

It took all Serena's mental powers not to observe the boy too closely. He'd already noticed her scrutiny, but she couldn't decide if he was puzzled or wary of her. He certainly didn't return her attentions with the loathing she expected, and she wondered if he knew who she was. She couldn't remember if he'd been present when Zoicite was on deck in Leneau.

By nightfall Serena was emotionally exhausted from the turmoil of her own thoughts and busy conscience. Even with her preoccupation, Darien persuaded her into a game of Bull and Lion. She didn't fully realize she had consented to play until he plucked the chapbook from her unmoving hands as she sat in a chair before the fireplace in the bedchamber.

"You said you'd play."

She withdrew her feet from the hearth which had grown far too warm with the modest fire, not looking at him. "Of course."

She sat down at the table, her eyes going to the tea and plate of biscuits beside the game. Darien lowered the blinds against the chill night air and sat down across from her.

"You haven't eaten all day," he commented, nodding for her to make the first move. "And that was quite a bit of brandy for you last night." He set a frog across from hers after she'd moved. "What's on your mind?"

Her eyes held no humor and just a bit of a headache still. "You know what's on my mind," she said sharply.

"So you are considering what I told you." His elephant took her jackal. "Careful, little firefly. Your light is flickering."

Her hand moved the amethyst rabbit and snatched his white and gray horse from the board. "How can you joke about something like this?"

He frowned over the board, developing a retaliation under her unexpected attack. "It was a long time ago, Serena. Methuen is dead."

She shook her head, watching his black and white turtle take her jade fish. "That doesn't mean you've forgotten."

"No. I haven't forgotten."

"Why did you wait so long to escape from the mines?"

He grinned. "So you're accepting the truth."

She frowned. "About Methuen? I've not made up my mind."

"I thought about it a lot. We all did. But we'd been told slavery was rampant in Embrosse. Anyone who escaped would be brought bake to the mine overseer and punished severely. We all believed it. No one knew differently." He made his next move, watching her consider the tea in her cup. "There were no workers over age twenty there."

She studied him closely. "None? What happened when the boys grew up?"

Darien knew, but he didn't care to detail the mass grave outside the mine barns. "They were put down, like a diseased animal. I suppose the mine overseers didn't want trouble."

Serena took her next few turns without speaking. With an effort she shoved the image of the mines farther back into her mind. She sipped the tea, finding the light bergamot taste pleasing, something that had been lost on her the preceding day. It settled well with her stomach and she looked with interest at the biscuits. "What did you do after you got to Cor Ten? Did you go home?"

"Not directly."

She detected reluctance in his tone, but pushed the subject despite it. "You don't want to tell me."

Darien shrugged, and then scowled as she moved the black cat. "Why do you want to know?"

The bite of biscuit seemed suddenly too dry, but she swallowed it with a drink of tea. "Call it idle curiosity," she said. "You were sixteen, or thereabouts. You'd probably learnt the language, knew something about Embrosse by then. Learned that slavery was indeed illegal in Embrosse. If you didn't go home, what did you do?"

He slid the window shutter halfway closed as the room cooled. "There was no work in Cor Ten, and to stay there would probably lead to recapture, so I found a ship heading to the Delucian Islands."

"Pirates?"

"No. A legitimate freighter importing spices and oils from the islands and western Izramuth," he said. "One particular voyage we never got to Izramuth, however. We were intercepted off the coast by a pirate vessel called the _Maimed Fox_."

Skepticism claimed her face. "I've heard of the _Maimed Fox_, and it never really existed. It's only part of the legend of Captain Dell. My father told me about it."

Darien smiled at her disbelief. "I'm sure your father heard the embellished version of Captain Dell, which is fiction, but he did exist. I sailed with him for two years."

Serena debated this new information suspiciously. "Were you with captured Princess Arisse?"

"Dell never captured Princess Arisse, if that's what you've heard, Serena. He only returned her to Queen Menat after finding her on another pirate ship."

"Why would he return her? The reward had expired," she recalled in a troubled voice. Although she thought the stories of Captain Dell and the _Maimed Fox_ to be legend, the kidnapping of the young princess was very real.

"Captain Dell had a soft spot for children - a misplaced fathership, if you will," he admitted off-handedly. "When we came upon the _Lost Dove_ he found Arisse, and she had not been well cared-for, to put it nicely. Captain Dell took great pains to return the girl."

Serena considered his story as she finished the biscuit. Queen Menat had established a national holiday to honor Arisse's return. She let her rabbit take his lizard. "When did you become captain of your own ship?"

He studied her with indifference. "Gathering facts to use against me? Leave that to the bounty hunters, Serena."

When she looked at him her face held a surprised innocence. "How could I be a threat to you? I'm the captive," she murmured, playing her blue bird.

His lion moved across from her bull. "I win."

"This time."

She collected the carved animals and set them up on the board again. He reached back and brought out a bottle from the cabinet behind him, amused at her line of questioning. He poured his cup full from the bottle. When he offered to fill her ceramic cup she shook her head. He stood and built up the dwindling fire and closed the shutters fully as the wind grew in force outside.

Serena had more on her mind than the game or Darien's feigned distrust. She had satisfied herself with the belief that her father was ignorant of how Methuen's mining was accomplished. She was even able to admit her uncle had been involved with slavery. However, there was much more than her conscience hinging on Zoicite's business practices.

"If what you say it true about Zoicite - and I don't believe it is," she added hastily as he moved a jet owl, "why didn't you go to King Thulgarde with this, this mistaken allegation?"

"There is no mistake, dear Serena; not with my charge."

She shook her head, dismissing this with wave. "Why didn't you go through a political channel rather than steal me? You said you sailed for King Thulgarde. Surely he'd listen to an accommodating ally, even an illegal one," she said. "If you really sailed for him."

"That approach does not become you," he growled. He replaced her crystal seal with his malachite frog. "Going to your king would only drag out the ordeal rather than see its end. It would take months to prove what I know, and all while Zoicite - and you - would be leaning in Thulgarde's ear with stories to discredit a pirate's claim."

She frowned at him, not seeing the howlite horse across from her cat. "But you would have evidence, if what you say is true. Four mines, well, three without Ibereth, full of slaves."

He only shook his head, holding her attention. "Not by the time Thulgarde actually looked into my claims. Your husband would have every boy cleaned out. Maybe even cause collapses so he wouldn't have to account for the lack of workers. The Maeyen coffers are full; he could easily survive a year of stilled mine work."

"Much longer than a year," she corrected stiffly, but her voice dropped to a croak. Suddenly the sick feeling returned like a gale and she couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Darien. I shouldn't have said that. It was a wealth you helped build."

Her oblique remorse fascinated him, but he also knew it wasn't hers to bear. "I didn't tell you about your uncle to gain your sympathy, Serena," he said gently. "I had no intention of telling you."

"I know." She swallowed with difficulty and lifted her eyes only to the game. "I wish I didn't know."

"I told you that."

"I know that, too."

She moved a carved animal absently, wishing a paralysis would overtake the too real comprehension forming in her mind. _No,_ she thought adamantly. _Not Zoicite_. After all, she hadn't seen any mark on Brons' arm. Darien had offered to let her look, but she'd declined. Perhaps he was bluffing, knowing she would not look. Even now she didn't want to see the boy, to sustain her own belief.

"I don't believe Zoicite would keep slaves," she said aloud, the words sounding hollow to her. "I know he wouldn't, Darien." She sighed restlessly. "We aren't as close as some engaged couples, but he has been honest with me. I know that much of him."

He decided against voicing his first thought, and instead said: "You thought you knew Methuen, too."

For several long moments they played in silence. Each move was preceded by a lengthy deliberation as both were absorbed by various thoughts. Serena's preoccupation cost her three game pieces, but it wasn't until he confiscated her black amber cat that she cared to halt his attack. Two moves later her bird crossed in front of his lion.

"Who is my ransom?" she said suddenly.

He looked up from the board in surprise. "I told you yesterday, Serena; If you're –"

"I don't care," she cut him off. The hematite bull moved across from the lion. "It's my ransom. I should know."

Darien turned the lion on its side. "But it's my game and I make the rules."

She sat back in the chair, resolute to learn her ransom. "You must care for someone," she continued, holding his steady stare. "It can't be woman. Mine work is for men."

He leaned back, taking a long drink of the brandy he had neglected. "No, it's not a woman, but it's encouraging to know you do possess a romantic imagination," he said with a slow grin.

Serena didn't let the comment ruffle her determination. "Who is it, Darien?"

He took his time deciding whether to answer her, all the while observing her obstinate posture. Her gaze was unwavering, her chin tilted just enough to create a straight line of the coral lips. Under his stare, a pout came to her mouth and his eyes rose to hers.

"My brother."

The relentlessness in her blue eyes softened to something more malleable. "But you said the _Southern Hoshi_ took you," she said. "You said nothing about him."

"It didn't take him then. Joshan was picked up off the docks two years ago," he calculated, pouring her empty tea cup full from the bottle.

"Well ... why doesn't he just escape? Like you did?" she suggested, her shoulders sagging. She frowned. "How old is he?"

"Eleven."

Serena's face wrinkled at the tender age. "That means he was nine ..." Her voice sharpened. "You're very old to be his brother. There would twelve or fifteen years between you two. Are you sure he isn't your son?"

Darien smiled at her speculation. "No. I'm sure he's my brother. The last from my mother's womb, and her dearest. She wants him back." He swiftly read the look crossing her face. "You didn't think pirates were sprung from the sea, did you?"

"No, but I didn't think you held your mother in such high esteem," she quipped. She took a drink of the brandy as her nerves jolted in ten different directions.

"I do."

"Why do you think he's in a Maeyen mine?"

He considered her mood. "I saw him. In the Ibereth mine. I told you I've already tried taking him myself, and bribing the guards, to no avail."

Serena took little time estimating his sincerity. As she started to speak, a knock came to the office door.

"Go ahead," he said, but she shook her head.

When Darien left to talk to Lucas in the quarterdeck's short hall, she was alone with her thoughts and yet another new view of her captivity. What she'd learned the past few days was too much to digest in a mere evening. She stood and listlessly put the stone animals in the cloth bag and tried not to focus on any particular thought. She heard the outside door open and close and expected Darien to enter the bedchamber. When she looked to the doorway, Brons stood there.

Serena dropped the amber cat figurine and heard it hit the floor. Brons' dark eyes went to the carved animal, carefully retrieving it for her. He held it out and she nervously took it.

"Captain said you have question maybe," he said expectantly in broken Embrosse. His attention went from her face to the flannel cote she wore and back again.

Serena wasn't completely aware of his gaze. Her thoughts had frozen at his presence. Gradually she understood why Darien had allowed him in the room. She cleared her throat. "What kind of question?"

Brons shrugged. "Don't know."

She nodded, her eyes going to his arms, which were covered by his shirt. "Is Embrosse your homeland?"

"No."

"Where are you from?"

"Kiddock."

She returned his cautious curiosity until she heard voices at the office stairway door. "I don't have any questions, Brons," she said quietly as the outside door opened.

He left and a moment later a key turned in the office door. Serena discovered her hand squeezing the amber cat she still held. Mechanically she placed it with the other pieces in the pouch and put the game in the chest. She glanced at the tea cup still half full of brandy, and then turned down the light and went numbly to bed, commanding herself not to think.


	10. Chapter 10

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Ten**

Several days passed as the _Eliana Nor_ made good time heading up Embrosse's western coast. A southwest wind prevailed, blowing in a shallow rain the second night that broke the following morning. Serena lost track of the days she'd been on the ship in that time, preoccupied as she was with her own dilemma.

Darien was well aware of the days. The _Nor_ would find the harbor of Cold Rock in another five days. He wasn't concerned about missing the appointment with Zoicite Maeyen. It would take at least fifteen days to reach Lusson by land and another three to go from there to Cold Rock. And that was with fast horses.

He knew Serena was anxious to dock at the northern port, but she wouldn't like waiting nearly half a week for Zoicite while bottle up in the cabin. With the _Nor's_ present speed she already had a wait of a day or two before Zoicite could possibly reach the port.

Not wanting to be trapped in Cold Rock wasn't the entire reason Darien wanted to dock in Brimshire. The Nyan weapons would bring handsome prices there, and he was eager to give the crew a short holiday before the next confrontation with Maeyen.

He looked to where Serena leaned on the rail watching the evening waters lap at the hull. The wind lifted her green velvet skirts and hem of the white chemise just enough to offer a stunted peek of her legs beneath in the muted torch light. He wasn't alone in noticing. Under their captain's glare three crewmen averted their stares, also.

"Captain," Brons said, breaking Darien from his thoughts, "the galley asking to close for the night."

Darien nodded. "Shut it up."

"Aye." The boy disappeared quickly below deck to the forecastle.

Darien's eyes went back to Serena. She wasn't the only one who'd given his newly voiced accusations so much thought. He had known immediately he shouldn't have told her anything. He hadn't meant to tell her, but the appeal of those deep blue eyes and the beckon of her soft pout had been so persuasive, even when he knew things would only worsen between them.

_That was where I made the first dire mistake_, he knew. Thinking of her in any manner except as a captive - a tool to be used in achieving Joshan's release - was a downfall he could have avoided. Had this been over in Leneau, as he'd planned, he would have been done with her, and concerns for a woman aboard the _Nor_ would never have been an issue.

But he wasn't entirely to blame for revealing the Maeyen practice of slavery, he rationalized, watching her long hair wave in the breeze of the starless, opaque night. She shouldn't have seen mark on his arm, but should have taken his word not to ask about it. Her stark shock that night had been unpretentious and as the realization of her uncle made its impact, she had exhibited a concern he had not expected.

Darien had anticipated denial, which she portrayed, or maybe indifference, if she already knew, and perhaps even a condescending amusement. She was Izmaruthen and the idea of slavery in a country where it was forbidden may not be a complete astonishment. Her reaction to the revelation unsettled him. He almost preferred callousness rather than her shame-ridden apologies. It left him with a moral uneasiness for which he had not prepared, and he didn't like it.

Darien met her when she moved to the center of the ship and leaned against the wide hind derrick beneath the crow's nest, hiding from stares of some of the crew at the fore deck.

"Are you cold?" He took her arm. "I'll take you in."

Serena tried to avoid his touch. "Not yet. Please. I ..." She looked to the back of her hand as two drops of blood fell on it.

Darien snatched her hand, looking up to the crow's nest above them. The crewman on lookout duty was slumped to one side, an arrow protruding from his throat and one arm hanging over the nest side, dripping. Darien pulled Serena behind himself and faced east, eyes searching the inky night water. Across the ship, Lucas now also saw the dead lookout.

Serena tried to look around Darien and started to speak, then shrieked as a thin, black feathered pointless arrow ripped through the back of his shoulder from the front. He cursed, breaking off the short shaft and ripping it out of his shoulder. Another ship suddenly materialized a short distance away in the thick darkness.

"Cyntians! Board her!" Darien commanded as a bell rang out. He pushed Serena into the cabin as heavy ropes bearing foreign, bellowing pirates swung onto the _Nor's_ deck.

In the bedroom he slammed shut the starboard windows. "Against the wall!" he ordered, pointing, when Serena attempted closing the opposite windows. She pressed herself shakily to the stone mantle wall as screams filled the night deck side. At the last window a Cyntian managed to crawl through before Darien shoved shutter. Barely had the man entered than the blade of Darien's knife sunk deep in his torso. Serena watched, ashen and speechless, as the bleeding intruder was heaved back out the window.

"Behind the screen," Darien told her, forcing another long knife into her unmoving hands. "Go, Serena!"

She stumbled behind the screen as the lantern was turned out, unable to yet utter a word. The bedchamber and office doors were shut and locked. She huddled in the dark screen corner, her heart choking in her throat.

_Not more pirates,_ she prayed. _Not Cyntians!_ The dark of night had hidden the attacking ship well and the loss of the lookout gave the Cyntians a deadly advantage. She'd never seen a ship so black. In her fleeting glimpse of it before Darien had hastily escorted her to the cabin, Serena had see the black masts and hull that offered not a single torch light.

After a grueling hour and a half, the noise of battle changed, sounding farther away. The retreat confused Serena, and after another hour of waiting with bated breath and knotted fingers, she chanced to open a window. She hesitated, hands trembling on the wooden shutter lock. As she futilely fumbled with it, desperation growing, the bedroom door opened. She spun around to see Darien enter with a lantern.

"Don't look out that side," he warned, lighting the table candle with a torch.

"Is it over?"

"Yes."

More light stretched into the room as he lit two oil lamps. She moved closer to him, and he looked down as her fingers paused on the torn material at his shoulder.

He moved her hand. "That's not something a nobleman's wife should touch."

Serena frowned, withdrawing her hand. "I'm not that fragile, Captain."

"Aren't you?" He grinned. "Someone saw you here." He soaked a cloth in his washstand, and then took her hand washed the drops of dried blood from the back of it. "Unlike the one that took the lookout, Cyntians don't poison arrows when they mean to eat their targets."

A chill swept up her spine as he moved away and opened the portside windows, her fingers touching her damp hand.

"They were pirate?"

"Not exactly. Something of a livestock vessel." He pulled off his shirt and found another clean one in his closet. She looked at the bandage at his shoulder, where the white was tinted pink. "They were probably hoping we were slavers, and empty hold."

Her eyes went to his scarred arm bearing Methuen's mark as he pulled on the shirt. "What will you do with them?"

"Let the pellums have them."

She followed as he went to the cupboard by the table and poured the ivory cup full from a dark bottle. He gave it to her, and then spoke as she started to speak. "Drink it anyway. You'll have nightmares tonight."

Serena looked with dismay at the cup as he built a small fire in the hearth. He stood and looked to her, smiling at her paleness.

"You're all right, Serena. It's over."

She cleared her throat, eyes going to the bandaged spot at his shoulder on the brown shirt. "You're hurt."

"Not much."

She tried to keep her voice steady. "It happened so fast."

"Cyntians are like that. Swift. That's why it's important to put the fight on their vessel. They feel they've already lost. I'll be back in an hour." He unlocked the starboard windows, but didn't open the shutters more than half a hand. "Don't look out."

She frowned, standing nearer to the warming fire, hoping to quell the nervousness seeping through her again. "You're unloading their ship?"

He shook his head, glancing at the floor near a window. "I want nothing from the vessel. It stinks of rot." He went into the office and paused at the stair door and called for Brons. He returned to see Serena still immobile at the hearth, her eyes on the cup in her hands. She set it on the mantle and looked to him.

The cabin boy joined them almost immediately in the bedchamber with a bucket of lye and water and a scrub brush. He knelt at the dark stains left on the floor by bleeding Cyntian.

Darien tapped the ivory cup on the mantle. "Good night. Try to sleep soon."

Brons left shortly after Darien, and Serena leaned against the mantle, her racing pulse finally slowing after the rampage. She watched the wet floorboards dry without seeing them. From the look of Darien's bandaged shoulder she guessed the arrow had done less damage than she first thought. _Perhaps it hadn't been as bad ... No,_ she thought. She had seen it pass through his shoulder. She closed her eyes as a faintness caught her legs. The arrow had been meant for _her_.

She sat at the hearth as her knees weakened, then reached up to the mantle for the ivory cup. A livestock vessel. The words kept replaying in her mind until she drank half the cup of brandy.

Voices called through the outside night and she resisted the urge to look out the partly opened shutters. After a few moments of shouts, however, she gave in to one small peek.

The black ship was more visible now as the Father Moon shone stronger on the waters. Silhouettes of bodies hung by their wrists swung from masts and derricks. Oddly, Serena felt no resentment for the sight. Instead she breathed a sigh of victory, surprising herself.

_Cannibals_, she told herself, watching the _Nor's_ crew slash the Cyntian sails. _Worse than pirates_. She turned from the window, suddenly weary, but not disgusted. The Cyntians made Darien's men seem somehow less dishonorable.

The unsettling ordeal lingered with Serena and the crew the next day as the _Nor_ headed for Cold Rock. She watched as the men treated each other's wounds on deck and recounted individual fights. She tried not to listen, but a few stories demanded her attention. She learned that the Cyntian dead and dying alike were left to hang from the black ship as warnings to other, similarly minded Cyntian vessels.

She knew she had lingered too long when Lucas explained to Brons that none of the wounded Cyntians would survive for long dangling from the black sails. It had been the first mate's idea to clip their wings, as he termed it, by driving a knife deep under each Cyntian man's arm before being hoisted. Brons had thought it a good idea and said so, adding that this would encourage the pellums. Serena had quickly moved to the quarterdeck to deck to escape further details.

Later that evening Serena was glad to be alone in the cabin bedroom. Darien said they would be docking yet again before reaching Cold Rock and the announcement, coupled with the attack and Lucas' account, left her in foul spirits.

With a cautious glance at the door she took the wedding gown from the armoire, seeking a distraction from thoughts of the previous night. Again the touch of the luxurious material eclipsed the meaning of the dress. She smiled, pulling the collar to her chest and looked at her reflection in the armoire mirror. The heavy satin swept the floor as she held it higher.

The opalescent pearls caught the dim lamplight, blinking minute borealis rainbows of color when Serena turned sideways. She'd only seen bolts of the material and the seamstress' sketches for the dress during fittings the past year and was pleased with the results. After a little deliberation, she took another look out the door and closed it completely.

Behind the screen, the gown settled over her in smooth folds, draping her figure loosely. She didn't try to lace the back by herself, but held it closed with one hand and emerged from behind the screen. She stood before the open armoire mirror again.

She frowned, noting slackness in the front pleats of the skirt, and pulled the back tighter. The past few days of little appetite now showed, and her normally slender waist was smaller. She took a deep breath and turned, scowling at the mirror. She would have to change her melancholy habits if she wanted to fill out the dress properly for her postponed wedding.

She smoothed the bodice, then pulled her hair high over her head in loose twists with the other hand, turning her head as the blonde tendrils fell about her face and neck. She turned again, and another movement in the room made her look to the door. In a brief moment of awkwardness Serena could only return Darien's stare as he paused in the doorway. His hand was still on the door latch, his eyes moving over her face and gown with surprise and approval.

She caught her breath, and then instinctively reached for the flannel cote in the armoire.

"Hold it," he said, closing the door behind him. "Turn around."

She held the laces tighter with one hand at her back, her other hand clutching the dressing cote. "It isn't fastened," she stammered.

His eyes moved over the dress with appreciation until she ducked behind the screen in a flurry of satin. For a moment he watched what he could see of elbows, wrists and ivory material above the screen. He looked away slowly.

"Zoicite will have a pretty bride."

Serena hung the elaborate dress over the screen and whisked the velvet skirt up hastily, fumbling with its ties. She shrugged into the bodice, her shaking fingers refused to work, making tying the bodice laces difficult.

"Need help tying something?" Darien's voice snapped her fingers into a new frenzy of awkwardness.

She finally finished tying and stepped out from behind the screen, the blush still bright on her face as she held the draped gown. "No, thank you." She shook her head at the pewter goblet he offered when she met him at the table.

"It's only cider."

She hung the dress in the armoire, then accepted the goblet, mulling over the thoughts replacing her fading embarrassment. She sampled the cider and took a seat by the moderate fire. Darien claimed the opposite chair, one of the Nyan falchions across his knee. She watched as he removed the coat of wax from the dulled blade.

"It's very likely Zoicite will meet you in Cold Rock without a ransom for me," she said, a controlled alarm in her tone as she voiced the thoughts haunting her all day. "What will you do with me then?"

He scowled at the question. "We aren't going to discuss that, Serena."

"But if he -"

"Don't ask," he warned thickly, his hand tightening on the sword hilt. "I've told you more than you need to know already."

Despite repeated attempts, Serena learned nothing, except she was taxing his humor to no avail that evening. After eating a very late supper and irritating him with more unanswered questions, she went to bed, but to sleep.

Since she'd learned of Joshan's existence and Darien's allegations of slavery, Serena felt a restive urgency to leave the _Nor_ before they reached Cold Rock. Whatever Darien promised her now she couldn't believe if Zoicite showed up without the ransom. Good intentions would not be enough to save her from what little she knew of the pirate's temper. She had yet to see him angry, but was certain he wouldn't spare her. With his view of slavery, he might even consider murder more humane than selling her.

Docking in Brimshire now took on a new interest to her. Escape was nearly impossible and utterly senseless while on the ship, but once they docked it was a different matter completely. She believed Darien would allow her to go into town at least once. After all, she had behaved herself in Amstead under his careful guard and she felt he had gained some confidence in her. There'd been no more attacks when he was not looking, and he had even admitted to telling her more than necessary about his demands.

That thought put a chink in Serena's planning for escape. Perhaps, honestly, she was more willing to put her efforts toward attaining her own freedom than weighing the notion of Zoicite as a slave owner. She may have convinced Darien she didn't entirely believe him, but in her heart she wasn't certain.

In all practicality, she had to ask herself why Zoicite would tell her if the mines were run by slave labor. As she thought back over all their casual conversations, and even the more private talks, she realized the subject of slaves had never been an issue. Likewise, she hadn't told her betrothed husband that her Izmaruthen home had been free of slaves, that her father loathed the practice. It was possible Zoicite assumed he knew her view of the bondage and thought she would accept it, even in Embrosse.

Serena sat up suddenly, catching the comforter as it fell to her lap. The Maeyens had always married Izmaruthen women. A portrait of Shayla flashed through her mind, but it wasn't merely the woman's face she saw. The dark amber hair, the tawny skin, the light brown eyes - all were characteristic of Izmaruthen women.

_No_, she thought, her fingers twisting the thick cotton bed covering. _But why else would it be the Maeyen custom to marry women from a country accepting slaves? How could a Maeyen man convince an Embrosse bride to keep quiet about illegal bond slaves?_

Serena covered her face with her hands, fingers pressing into her scalp as she drew up her knees beneath the comforter. _Was this the ugly Maeyen secret that made the family mines so prosperous? Is this what I'm marrying into? _She hugged her knees close and stared unseeing at the low fire in the grate. A creak of the hammock made her look to that corner.

"Are you ill?" Darien asked.

"No."

Serena took a slow breath and laid down facing away from him. She rebuked herself for her former thoughts. She wanted to prove him wrong, but in examining Zoicite's family she hadn't found evidence to contradict the accusation. She pulled the comforter closer, sighing. But that didn't mean Darien was right.

_He may think he's right,_ she calmly told herself. She could admit Methuen possibly worked the mines by slave labor. It was surely her uncle's mark she had seen on Darien's arm. _And Brons?_ She continually hoped he would not enter her sight minus a shirt so she could avoid seeing his arm. She considered what little she knew of the cabin boy and Joshan. Perhaps they had been subject to Methuen's bondage. Brons could have escaped shortly before Methuen died two years ago_. When Zoicite had taken over the operation he would have freed the slaves,_ she rationalized. _Of course, he would not, could not, return them all to their homelands._ Joshan could be wandering Ibereth, or Cor Ten, as Darien had.

Even as the thoughts came into her mind, Serena didn't believe them. Darien said he saw Joshan at the Ibereth mine before the collapse. He tried bribery to get the boy out. And, more convincing yet in her own desperate scenario, why would Zoicite release a slave force when he would have to replace it with hired workers?

It was that lone thought that nagged her the most when she tried to vouch for Zoicite. The Maeyen mines were a lucrative operation and the cost to run it by paid laborers would diminish the healthy profits. She rolled onto her back and stared at the dark beams crossing the ceiling.

She was supposed to be thinking about escaping in Brimshire, not the mines. They were Zoicite's business. If he was a slave owner, she would find out soon enough.

Her brow wrinkled. _When? After they were married? When it was too late?_ A wave of panic made her breath catch. It was already too late. She had no other option than to marry Zoicite. Going back to her father's house was unthinkable, and she would not disgrace him by doing it. She had no way to prove Zoicite as a slaver to her father.

A shudder grabbed Serena's spine. _Darien is wrong._ She couldn't say why, or how, but he was. He had to be.


	11. Chapter 11

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Eleven**

Late the next afternoon a storm blew in that sent the _Eliana Nor_ reeling under savage winds and pelting rain. Serena had seen this storm coming. They had all watched the dark roll in from the western horizon so swiftly she thought the ship would be pushed to the unseen mainland coast before the sails could be furled.

As it was, Serena was hustled into the cabin as Darien and the navigator debated the best course of action. In the bedchamber she slammed the shutters closed, a wave drenching her at the last window. She bolted the latch, cursing as water dripped through her chemise. Thunder echoed in the distance and she knew it was nearing quickly. The bedroom door swung into the wall, making her jump. She hated it all. The thunder, the sea, the pirates, the wind, all of it. Even Zoicite, at the moment.

She closed the door and was nearly knocked off her feet as the _Nor_ lurched. The only light now came from a meek fire in the hearth and this she poked with an iron. She reconsidered building up the flames, but instead lowered the grate to trap the larger burning pieces of wood. The last thing she needed now was to burn out the cabin. She looked to the door, her hand clutching the mantle for support, as Darien entered.

"I suppose this storm isn't as bad as I think, either," she snapped at him.

He eyed her wet clothing with a scowl, his own soaked and heavy also. "It's bad," he consented. He searched through two storage closets before finding the thick charts he wanted. "Sit down somewhere and hang on. And, no, we're not going down," he added brusquely, anticipating her thoughts. "It'll get worse, but it'll blow over fast too."

Serena went to the sea chest first, then moved to a corner of the bed and sat down, one arm wrapped tightly around a carved post. The room was almost completely dark now and the pitching and diving of the _Nor_ brought a nauseated feeling to her stomach. She hugged the post as thunder crashed overhead. In the absence of the fire, the wet chemise and bodice soaked her thoroughly and she was soon shivering.

The storm raged harder, but only for half an hour. After that, the winds subdued to a stir and the rains ceased to beat the shutters, but evening had settled early over the waters. Serena released the post when it was over, her arm aching from the effort. With shaking hands she brought out clothes from the armoire as Darien returned to the room.

"I see you made it through in one piece." He lifted the grate and built up the dying fire. "Put something dry on before you get sick."

Behind the folding screen, Serena's fingers flew over the vest laces as the catching fire from the hearth glowed brighter into the room.

"Not sick this time?" he called.

"No." She frowned, discarding the bodice and wet clothes for the warm flannel night chemise and matching cote. "This one was worse than the last storm, but I don't feel as sick." She gathered the clothes and went to the fire where he was hanging his wet clothes after changing into dry.

"Where did you sit?"

"On the bed."

He took her clothes and hung them over an open cupboard door beside his. "You sat against the wall last time," he reminded. "This storm was rougher, but sometimes it's the longer, lazy ones that make you sicker. Sit down and warm up."

She did and put her feet close to the fire, watching him rifle through a closet for a moment. "Is it already dark outside?"

"Nearly so." He took the chair opposite her, holding yet another wax coated scimitar. "Your husband has a good eye for weapons," Darien admitted, turning the curved sword, admiration in his eyes. "I'll certainly give him that much."

Serena's gaze went over the weapon, but not with the appreciation he exhibited. "He knows how to use them too."

His smile turned unpleasant. "Good. Perhaps we'll find cause to call a match."

"He doesn't make his living murdering people the way you do," she reminded coolly. "Wouldn't you rather challenge someone of you own skill?"

He laughed, working the wax from below the hilt. "That's a clever way of pulling your husband out of a match, Dey Serena. Too bad he has to hide behind his wife's skirts."

She didn't reply, but looked back to the blazing fire.

"You don't like being called his wife," he posed, deliberately provoking her.

"We're not married yet," she said stiffly, glancing steadily at him. "And he hides from nothing. He'll prove your accusations wrong, Darien."

"How? By showing up in Cold Rock without Joshan? That would prove nothing, save he is a bigger fool than I believe him to be." He removed the thin wax further down the blade, and then looked at her sharply as she began to speak. "Don't ask."

Serena closed her mouth and resided to watching a cloudy blade emerge from under the filmy coating. The wax was necessary to keep the metal from oxidizing during the long voyage from Nya Gakari over the rough Northern Croa Sea. She had seen Zoicite do the same on other evenings in the valley, usually on the back patio while musicians played from inside the house. Zoicite enjoyed collecting weapons and among his favorites were those of Nyan workmanship.

The blade was dull and would need an edge before being used. Serena swallowed uncomfortably, wondering if she would be the weapon's first prey. She watched the yellow flames leap in the hearth.

"Why won't you tell me?" she asked timidly, a small frown at the corners of her mouth. "It's my life being considered."

Darien's attention shifted to her only momentarily. "I don't know why you're so worried about Maeyen not bringing your ransom," he said flatly. He felt her eyes study the sword, but didn't look at her. There was an openness in her face tonight far too vulnerable for him to observe for long. Ordinarily he would take advantage of her candidness, but she wore a heavy-hearted brooding he did not wish to magnify. He preferred the more casual banter when her guard was up.

"Seems to me you do believe he's a slaver, and you're not sure you are worth the exchange of one slave."

She took immediate offense, as he expected, and the pout came back to her mouth. "I'm worried because he is not a slaver," she said pointedly, "and he cannot produce one for my ransom."

"Why would I demand something for your return Zoicite doesn't have?" Darien smiled as she gazed long into the fire, pleased her veneer of indifference was back in place. "Are you warm yet?"

"Yes." She settled back in the chair, a certain, rare weariness claiming her posture, then she straightened. "May I get some cider?"

"Of course. You need not ask, Serena."

She went to the cupboard and found the decanter and cups, but paused there. "Do you want cider or brandy?"

"Brandy." He watched her pour the drinks and discovered, to his dislike, a sudden hominess he had never before felt in the cabin. He accepted the drink she presented him as the feeling passed. She sat down again, oblivious to the fleeting emotion that had rushed him, her eyes on the fire as it cut low from a brief gust of wind passing over the ship.

Serena sipped the cider slowly as her thoughts drifted. His wound from the arrow was still bandaged and had needed only modest attending by the ship's surgeon. Many times over the last few days she'd thought of herself and what would have happened if the arrow had reached her. She would not have fared nearly so well, primarily because of her height as opposed to his. She had tried to approach the subject once, but Darien had waved aside her gratitude with an amused grin.

"What would your father do if he knew you were marrying a slaver?"

Serena's attention left the hearth, eyes narrowing. "Zoicite is not -"

"Humor me," he interrupted. He brushed the broken wax off the blade and sorted through the pile of cleaning cloths beside the chair. "Would he annul the engagement?"

She frowned, feeling she was nearing a trap. "Of course he would."

He rubbed a dab of fine grit into the blade. "Then perhaps you have an alternative to marrying a slaver. If you're looking for one."

What he said was unthinkable, she knew, even if she was convinced Zoicite was guilty of the crime Darien had outlined. "You don't understand," she said slowly. "My father would be disgraced if I ran away from my obligation."

"You wouldn't be running away from anything," he told her. "You said he would annul the arrangement."

"But Zoicite is not a slaver," she recalled with an assured smile that faded as soon as he looked back at the sword.

He sighed. "Well, Serena, if you really do believe that, I can understand your apprehension about reaching Cold Rock," he admitted, watching the light from the fire sparking in her eyes. "But I don't think you do, not with as much sleep as you've lost the last few nights."

"I think lack of sleep would be pretty common for any woman on a ship of pirates," she justified with an effort to keep her voice from wavering.

"True."

Darien had changed the subject to trivial topics then, and she was relieved, but it did not keep her from thinking more about Brimshire. She lay awake that night listening to the gentle creak of the ship as it moved slowly under the now lagging sails. The storm had passed quickly and taken most of the wind with it, except for an occasional gust.

She laid still, her face to the window so Darien wouldn't know she was awake. She didn't let herself entertain the thought of going back to her father's house. That would also be an admission of Zoicite's guilt.

_Brimshire_, she told herself silently. That was her hope. She pulled the comforter closer, a sigh escaping her. Even if she could get away from Darien in town there was the trial of journeying back to the valley on foot, without money. This realization did not please her. Either she would have to turn beggar or thief, fast, or explore other unseemly means of support she refused to consider.

But there would be no time for any action of that sort. Darien would have every man in his crew scouring the port for her. She frowned, not liking that idea at all.

She sighed and looked to the fire burning brightly in the hearth. The room was far too warm, and while the window near Darien was partway open, the still night air allowed little breeze now. She glanced to the hammock, listening to him snore, and then quietly went to her own window.

Serena opened the shutter only a hand's breadth before halting abruptly. A sound other than the snapping fire met her ears, and it came from outside. The dark outline of another ship loomed nearby on the waters in the moons' light.

_Not again!_ she thought. She held her breath, crouching near the sill. The dip of galley oars made swells ripple toward the unsuspecting _Nor_.

She moved swiftly to the hammock. "Darien," she whispered. Her fingernails planted in his arm. "Darien!"

His hand snatched hers warily, his eyes darting to her other free hand for signs of attack. She only leaned closer to him.

"There's a ship outside. There." She urgently nodded to the starboard window.

In seconds he was at the window, eyes moving uneasily over the foreign ship. He closed and locked the shudder quickly, noiselessly.

"Now listen carefully, Serena," he said tightly, his hands on her shoulders. "Put on your parka and boots and don't say anything."

"They're attacking us? Another?"

"Yes." He went to the door and tore down the hammock and then pulled a rope hanging from a corner beam. She heard a low rumble in the front of the ship as the crew responded to the forecastle bell. "The lookout should have spotted it."

"Maybe he's dead."

"They're not Cyntian."

Serena took the cape from the armoire as he locked the windows and chose weapons from the case. Her trembling hands refused to work the buckles as she muttered curses. Darien turned her around and fastened the cape for her.

"I'm putting out the fire. When I leave, you dump this in the ashes," he instructed and gave her a clay jug. "It'll be a little smoky for a while, so cover your mouth. Here. Take this too."

She took the jug and long knife he held. "Who are they?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter right now. Sit tight, Serena."

He led her to the mantle and doused the fire, then left, locking both doors. She poured the jug's contents over the glowing embers and held an arm over her nose as the smell of scorched vinegar filled the dark room. When the jug was empty, she retreated with her boots behind the folding screen where the smoky stench was not as heavy.

Her stomach shifted from the thick cabin air, but it lurched when the sound of bloodthirsty cries suddenly ripped through the night. She wrapped the cape cowl around her face and struggled to pull on the boots in the dark. She knew the long laces were cross-strung and knotted, but she didn't care. The room had cooled considerably and the smoked thinned, but the strong acidic smell lingered.

The attack waged long into the night with Serena cringing and wincing with every scream and oath from the deck. She sat on the dressing stool while thoughts of the attack and being confiscated by another ship of pirates flashed through her mind. Worse yet, the predator ship was not under sail power alone, but included a force of galley slaves.

Before she could fully comprehend how she would be affected if Darien's men lost tonight, the sounds of the battle lessened. She breathed easier for the next hour, her knees chilling in the cool, dark cabin, relieved the fighting seemed to be about over.

This time she declined the temptation to try unlocking a window shutter. As she was wondering the outcome, the outside office door opened and voices came to her. She recognized those of Darien and Lucas and came out from behind the screen. A dim light shone through the grate as she waited expectantly.

"... and come back," Darien was saying as he unlocked the bedroom door. "Brons, you build a fire," he called back into the first room.

In the torchlight Serena's eyes rested on his reddened sleeve as he entered. "You're hurt."

He held up her hand as she came near. "Just stay there, and keep your parka on. It'll take a while for the room to get warm again."

She glanced to where Brons had lifted the fireplace grate from the other side and was coaxing a fire. She took Darien's torch and used it to light the hanging lantern and table lamp. "Do you have an arm under there or is it just a stump?"

Darien cast her a sparse look and gingerly removed his coat. She watched him pour water in his washbasin and roll up the bloodied shirt sleeve. One small and one long gash stretched across the back of his arm and a smaller cut laced his hand. He looked at her unconcealed dismay.

"Go in the other room."

Serena shook her head and frowned, unbuckling the cape. "I'm not afraid to see blood."

He laughed and stopped short, a hand going to his side where red stained the tan material. "As long as it's not your own."

Heat from the fire ebbed slowly into the room. She tried to take the wet cloth from him, but he held it firm. "Lucas will be in shortly," he told her. "You're not -"

"A pirate?" she finished curtly, her fingers still on the cloth. "I can sew straighter than he can."

Darien let her take the cloth. She dipped it in the basin and squeezed the excess water out. She looked over his tunic, attention going to the red beneath the hand at his side.

"What else happened?"

"Lucas can do that one," he said briskly.

She looked to each of his eyes, and then peeled his hand away and lifted the shirt. She steeled herself at the sight of the puncture below his ribs. It was bleeding only slightly now, and she testily wiped at it with the cloth. "How deep is it?"

"Not bad." He took her hand from the wound.

She rinsed the cloth. "You don't trust me?"

"Should I?" He took the cloth from her and held it to his side. "I trust Lucas more."

"Stop being a pirate for a moment," Serena said wearily, glancing at his arm.

"Can you stop being a captive?"

Her eyes arrested his. "Briefly, yes."

Darien let her help him out of the torn and bloody shirt and sat at the table as she instructed. She folded a cloth thick for him to hold to his side and found palm brandy for anesthetizing and needle and thread in the sea chest. As a second thought, she brought a dark bottle from a wall cupboard.

Brons appeared from the other room for further instructions from Darien, then left. When the outer door opened, Serena smelled smoke. She sat down at the table and pulled Darien's injured arm closer. She began with the smaller cut on the back, mustering her courage for the other wounds.

"You torched the other ship?"

"Yes." He watched her wash his arm, gently around the open gash. She hesitated before making the first stitch, and then carefully pulled the sides of the severed skin together with needle and thread.

"Who was it?"

"Selv Ydabe. Heard of him?"

"I don't think so."

"The _Red Shark_."

"That's him?" She soaked another cloth with the palm brandy. "I have heard of the ship. Why did he attack you?"

He shrugged awkwardly. "I guess we looked like an easy target."

"How often are you attacked?"

"Three times total, until now." He watched her sew for a moment. "Something about you seems to draw them out."

She tied off a stitch. "You know this is not my doing."

"I know it." He swore, using a name she recognized as a crewman.

"Was he on guard duty?"

"Drevon? Yes. He was stone drunk. That's why he didn't see the Shark. You'd think after the last attack we wouldn't have that problem." He braced himself as she cleaned the second, wider cut on his arm with the alcohol. "Good thing you did, or we'd all be chained in the galley now."

"It's my life too." She threaded the needle, dipped it in the brandy and pulled it through the separated skin slowly. "How are you feeling?"

"Fortunate. This could have been a lot worse."

She tied off the stitch and did another, then turned up the lamplight as Brons knocked and looked into the room.

"Lucas not done," the boy told Darien.

"What about the two Delucian?"

"No good. Both dead."

Serena kept her eyes on her work, but she heard the boy's words. With an effort her hands remained steady.

"Manon?"

"Not good too. One arm, me think," Brons relayed.

Darien handed him the dark bottle from the table. "Give him this. Tell Lucas to save that arm."

Serena tied off the last row of stitches as the boy left. "You lost a lot of men," she stated more than asked.

He nodded, sighing and turning his arm over, checking her handiwork. "Too many. Nice job. There can't be much demand for stitching skin in the valley."

She smiled and took his hand, studying the cut on the back. "You should see my needlepoint." The cut below his knuckles was small, but had ripped further from use.

Darien put a brocade pouch on the table as she measured off more thread. "That's for you."

A defensiveness clouded her eyes. "I told you, I can't accept -"

"It's not a gift," he clarified, pushing harder on the cloth at his side. "There was little on the _Shark_ that would interest you, but, well, that's your cut for the night."

She looked at him quizzically, and then laughed. "You're mad. I'm not a pirate."

"I'm well away of that. It's a sort of gratuity for spotting the _Shark_. Drevon has you to thank too." He flinched as she allowed the palm brandy to saturate the cut on his hand. "If the _Shark_ had attacked without being spotted, he'd be keelhauled, and, if he lived through that, marooned, no vote. Because the Shark was spotted - albeit by you - but still attacked us and we have casualties, it'll be up to the crew's vote about marooning."

Her hands halted for a moment, and then continued methodically. "So his punishment may be marooning?"

"There'll be a trail, but the ship's articles state no drinking while on guard duty," he said. "The punishment for that is forty lashes; marooning is dependent on the vote."

"Not tonight."

"No. Tomorrow, when he's sober enough to feel forty."

She finished closing the cut and washed it and the arm carefully. It took only moments to wrap the injuries. "You're terribly pale, Darien. That arm bled pretty badly."

He looked at the bandage on his hand, nodding, and then gave her the pouch. "Open it."

She shook her head. "I can't -"

"You might like it." When she did not move, he growled and pulled a necklace from the pouch, holding it closer to her.

Serena caught her breath. The rectangular beads were of pure emerald, separated by tiny amber spacers and accented with brilliant faceted golden topaz. She took it, mesmerized by the sleepy gleam of the green gems. The coolness of the dark stones was offset by the clear topaz and warm amber, resulting in a striking contrast.

"What do you think?" He watched her eyes move over the necklace with increasing fascination.

She shook her head slowly. "I've never seen anything so lovely," she breathed, a smile creeping to her lips.

"Take it." Darien saw her hesitation and leaned toward her, adding lowly: "It's not a gift, Serena."

She carefully laid it on the pouch, her eyes still following the strand of gold and green. She took a deep breath. "Thank you, Darien."

He returned the smile she tried to conceal. "No thanks is due."

She nodded hesitantly and turned her attention to where his hand sheltered the stab wound. "You'll have to lie down for that one," she said quietly.

He shook his head. "Lucas -"

"Is busy." She stood up and changed the water in the basin, then brought a chair to the bedside and put the bowl on it, waiting for him. Darien sighed and relented. He cautiously lay down, having forgotten the comfort of a bed in the weeks Serena had been on the ship.

"Hold this." She put a wet cloth in the hand he had held to his side for the past half an hour and sat beside him. By now the puncture below his ribs had ceased bleeding completely. She was pleased it had bled clean and was not too jagged. She wiped gently at the dried blood. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," he said, eyes closing.

She put a tentative hand his forehead. He looked to her briefly before closing his eyes again.

"No fever. Maybe no infection," she said. She looked down as his fingers slowly closed on the hem of her chemise, but didn't comment.

She threaded the needle and warned him about the palm brandy. When he said nothing, she looked up find him sleeping. She sighed, and resumed her work. The stab had been straight, with little bruising and took only eight stitches to close, but she didn't know how deep it went. That would depend on the force of the attack, and judging from the hole it left in him and how much it bled, she knew it was considerable. There were no other visible wounds. Even the puncture he had suffered from the Cyntian arrow was minor. She recalled what Lucas had said to Brons about the Cyntians using only a sharpened shaft to disable their prospective livestock.

Serena sat back, watching him sleep. _He looks harmless now, _she thought, not at all as if her were capable of playing god to her life. He was also very pale. On impulse she touched his hair, brushing it from his face, and he remained immobile when her fingers traced a small light scar at his temple. She took the wet cloth he still held and washed the faint bloodstains from his hand.

For a moment everything seemed so different to her. He had been at her mercy for a brief time, and when she looked at him now he was not the same man who had wrenched her off her feet in the valley that terrible day. She studied him as if for the first time and found herself admitting a small smile. By habit her eyes went to the scar on his arm and her features hardened into a scowl. The blurred line between a natural attraction and being his captive focused sharply.

No, she hadn't forgotten her position on his ship.

The mark was unmistakably that of her Uncle Methuen. The maligned skin was smooth with time, a permanent reminder of a torturous boyhood, and it galvanized her fleeting affections.

Serena took a few moments to carefully unclench his fingers from her hem and stood up slowly, unable to continue her thoughts. She loosened his boot laces and worked them off without waking him. She found a blanket in the chest and was about to pull it over him as Lucas stepped into the room from the open doorway. Hardly had she seen the mate than he fiercely grabbed her wrist and dragged her closer to the head of the bed.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded. He checked Darien's neck for a pulse.

"Take your hand off me," Serena ordered, twisting as his grip tightened.

Lucas glared at her, the flag he usually wore around his limp hair now exchanged for a bandage. He looked back to his captain. For a moment he studied the stab wound she had not bandaged. "If he's dead in the morning, you'll lay down for every man on the ship," he warned close to her face.

She refused to show her growing fear. "You need not threaten me. If he dies, it won't be because of anything I've done."

"I'll decide that." He released her, and looked around the room, spotting Darien's cutlass and gauche by the fireplace. He took these and looked at the lock on the weapons case. "Where's the sword he gave you?"

"I had no sword." Under his close scrutiny Serena found the dagger beneath her cape on the bench. "Only this."

Lucas took it, reconsidering his rash threat. "Do you need anything?" He glanced to the fireplace. "Do you have enough wood?"

"Yes. Brons saw to it."

He looked from Darien unconscious on the bed back to her.

"I did nothing to him, Lucas," she repeated.

He nodded slowly. "Do you need more water? Anything else?"

"No."

He started to leave, but she stopped him in the office as he opened the stair door. "Lucas, can you lock the door?" She looked nervously past him out onto the darkened deck. "Do you have a key?"

"No. Lock it from inside." He nodded to the bedchamber. "He has the only key."

Serena locked the door after he left, the strong smell of smoke from the burning vessel making her grimace. She built up the fire in the bedroom and washed her face and hands at her washbasin. For a moment a chilling desolation and vulnerability engulfed her as Lucas' words reverberated in her head. She shook her head. Darien was not going to die by her hands or from his wounds.

She went to the bed and considered the stitched stab wound again. Surely there were not enough internal injuries for him to bleed to death. She spread the blanket over him and pulled it to his chin, her former thoughts returning with lesser force, watching him sleep quietly. She shook them from her head. _He won't die,_ she told herself. He had lived through worse ordeals. She had seen evidence of that on his body tonight.

Serena poured a small cup of brandy and drank it by the fire as her feet warmed. She leaned back in the chair, suddenly exhausted. The smell of vinegar was fading and she wondered why he had told her to use it. Perhaps it was the wrong jug. Once again, everything had happened so fast.

She sighed, pulling the pelisse tighter, and slowly finished the drink.


	12. Chapter 12

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Twelve**

Darien awoke a few hours later as day broke across the Rellion Ocean. He was exclusively conscious of a dull ache in one arm and a sharper pain at his side. For a moment he lay still, puzzled at the angle of the ceiling beams until remembering he was in the bed rather than the hammock.

The fire was low in the hearth and the darkened room too cool for comfort, but the skin beneath his hand was warm and soft. He looked at the foot in his clasp and then up at the rest of Serena. Her sleeping form huddled at the opposite headboard post, her face turned and hidden by cascades of flaxen tresses. The mauve flannel cote rose and fell with her breathing and the fingers at her crossed arms clutched the material tightly.

He sat up carefully, holding his injured ribs. He took a deep breath and spent a moment examining the patchwork Serena had performed after he'd fallen asleep. The swelling was down and bruising had spread across his ribs, but the neat stitches held the lacerated skin when he stood up. He found a length of cloth in the sea chest and wrapped it around the injury for support and tied it, then built up the dying fire.

He went to the side of the bed and pushed Serena's hair back from her face, her cheek cool to his touch. For a moment his fingers paused on her skin, watching her peaceful expression as she slept, hesitating to disturb her. "Lay down," he said when her eyes opened.

She only stared vacantly at him.

The back of his fingers paused on her cheek. "You're freezing, girl. Lay down."

She obeyed, settling deeper into the mattress, eyes closing again before her head found the pillow. She turned over and moved to the side of the bed still warm from where he'd lain. He pulled the blanket high over her and tucked in a stray foot. As he found a clean shirt in his wardrobe, someone pounded angrily on the outside stair door in the office. He went there and opened it to see Lucas.

The mate's face broke into a crooked grin. "I see you lived. Thought we'd be throwing your carcass overboard this morning."

Darien let him in and closed the door. "Not unless she stuffed something in before sewing me up." He pulled on a corduroy coat from an office closet, grunting as the movement brought on more pain. "How's Manon?"

"He kept the arm."

"Good. Is Drevon sober?"

Lucas scowled at the shipmate's name. "Sober enough."

Darien nodded. "Assemble the men for a trial."

Serena awoke shortly after Darien left when the room grew too warm. She looked automatically to the hammock, which drooped unstrung in the corner. The preceding night's events sprang into her mind, giving a new light to the empty cabin. Her hand slid over the mattress where she had last seen Darien. Lucas' dark promise came to her memory.

When Serena appeared on the hazy morning deck the quartermaster was collecting his whip and a bloody Drevon was being untied and led to the hold. She quickly looked away, her questions answered, but what her eyes rested on gave her new fears. She had seen all of the _Nor's_ crew at one time or another, but she recognized none of the men now at the rail.

And they had noticed her presence too. She stepped back at their overt curiosity and recoiled when a hand took her arm. Her frown dissolved when she saw it was Darien.

"You should sleep longer," he said, blocking her view of the strange men. "It's early yet."

She looked around him cautiously. "Who are they?"

"Part of the _Shark's_ galley crew. The rest are in the hold." Before she could voice an accusation, he added: "These have decided to join my crew. The others will be released when we dock."

"I wasn't going to suggest you would sell them," she said with a sigh, pulling her cape tighter and looking at his coat. "How do you feel?"

"All right. I appreciate your compassion last night," he said lowly, watching her expression change to guardedness. "It was very unlike a hostage to aid her captor."

Serena kept his level stare. "Lucas insisted that you at least live through the night."

An amused smile crossed Darien's face. "I believe that was after you had finished -"

"Do you want me to say I'm sorry I did it?" she asked heatedly, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'll rip the stitches out to prove it, if you like."

"That's not necessary; thank you, all the same. Now go back to the cabin," he said in stricter tones. "The deck's not been cleaned yet."

A pungent smell reached Serena's nose as he said it and she looked at the buckets of vinegar and lye being brought out.

"Why did you have me pour vinegar on the fire last night?" she asked, inquisitiveness replacing her irritation.

"I don't suppose you've noticed, but the whole cabin smells like jasmine and sandalwood. I'm not complaining," he said. "I rather like it; but it's not a good idea to let an attacking ship know there's a woman aboard."

"I see." She tried to swallow the alarm that arose at his answer. "I didn't think of that. Thank you."

Darien nodded and focused past her to where a few of the new men had wandered for a better glimpse of her. "Come on. Brons will knock twice when he brings your breakfast."

Serena opened the bedroom and one office window in the hot cabin. She knew the _Nor_ was little more than a day's travel to land by the sheer number of gulls and jaegers in the sky, and also by the warmer eastern breeze from the mainland. The drastic climate changes amazed her, but she didn't complain about this one. She let the fire reduce to a modest flame, knowing it was more a dampness than cold that lingered in the rooms.

After breakfast she casually brushed her hair, and, recalling the emerald necklace, took the pouch from the mantle. She fastened the necklace on and stood before the armoire admiring the subtle flash of the gems in the full length mirror. The topaz glinted in the late morning sun that streamed in the window as she moved.

She smiled, smoothing her dark green skirt and touching the braided gold trim. The necklace was a perfect accent for the skirt, and she recalled how well the lapis strand had matched the blue jacquard she'd worn in Amstead. Her fingers twisted one of the emerald beads as she focused beyond her image in the glass.

"That's it," she said to her reflection. "I'll wear the green skirt and necklace into town. He won't think it suspicious. I'll sell it and use the money to get home." her fingers passed over the gleaming gems. "It'll be more than enough. I can even buy a horse."

Her face fell as she touched a small amber bead fondly. But it was a beautiful piece of jewelry. She didn't want to part with it. She looked at the carnelian and onyx signet ring on her finger. It was either part with the necklace or the ring, and she knew the emeralds would bring far more. Maybe she would sell them both. She sighed, feeling more disenchanted than delivered.

With deliberation her chin tilted, and she looked coldly at the necklace's reflection.

"Yes, I can part with you," she murmured to the gemstones. "I'll have Zoicite buy another, and if he refuses, I'll wait until he's out of the valley on business, and commission one myself."

The _Eliana Nor_ docked in Brimshire early the next morning as the sun warmed the bustling port traffic. Darien's men swarmed the thoroughfare quickly, most going to brothels, but a few to taverns, and one even paid a visit home. The galley slaves had been stiffly warned about detailing the events surrounding their new freedom and Darien made it clear their demise if they tried to connect him with the _Shark_.

Serena touched her hair nervously in the bedroom, wondering if the gold and bronze skirt was too heavy for the warm day. During the long, sleepless night she had reconsidered her escape and concluded that she wouldn't attempt it that day. She'd spend the morning docilely at Darien's arm without being too attentive or aloof, she hoped, and return to the ship with him that evening.

The auction for the Nyan weapons would be tomorrow, she had heard, and he would be absent at least all morning. Tomorrow afternoon she was sure he would again let her accompany him into town, and that would be her best chance. It would be far simpler to hide for half a day than a full day, and he would be more at ease after the auction.

That was why she waited to wear the green skirt. It may be her only clothing for the entire journey and the velvet was the most durable fabric of her skirts. And, it matched the emerald necklace.

Serena had also thought of another aspect of her escape last night. If she was successful tomorrow, Darien would probably continue on to Cold Rock without her, after abandoning his search, and keep his rendezvous with Zoicite. He may even accomplish his goal of Joshan's release. She found herself hoping he did. But Zoicite wouldn't know she was safely on her way home, and she wasn't sure Darien would tell him of her escape. He may claim to have already sold her, or killed her.

Even the truth would not set well with Zoicite, she knew. An uneasiness welled within her. Zoicite may ask for that match Darien desired. She wasn't confident Zoicite a better swordsman. In fact, she was quite certain he was not.

Darien's hand covered hers on his arm. "What's on your mind?"

Serena looked to him quickly, at a loss for words as she loosened her tight clutch. "For a moment I, I thought the ground moved," she lied with a short laugh as they moved down the Brimshire street later that day. "I guess I've been on a ship too long. Can you get land sick?"

He nodded, grinning. "Believe it or not, yes. Do you want to go back to the Nor?"

"Oh, no," she assured, relieved. "It just seemed odd to walk without allowing for a swaying floor, I guess."

"It's a lot worse after crossing the lower Rellion Ocean for seven or eight weeks, but you must remember that from your voyage to Embrosse."

"That was a long trip."

The afternoon seemed to stretch endlessly before Serena as they visited various vendors and shops. For a short while she lost sight of her impending escape as she watched a juggler at the edge of the marketplace. Children crowded close to the entertainer as he requested more objects to toss. Soon his collection included a dried gourd, two goose eggs, a knotted scarf, a sandal and a little girl's rag doll, which the girl watched with glee.

After an early supper at a food house they returned to the _Nor_ and this time Darien didn't go back into town alone. Serena almost preferred his absence to give her time to ready for her escape. _There would be time enough tomorrow during the auction_, she promised herself, and there were no real preparations to make. Only a mental readiness.

She watched what little activity there was to be seen at the next pier from the table window. Three sailors were staggering along the dock, arguing over which ship they belonged to. One fell into a drunken heap and his comrades continued on without him.

Evening was descending on the port, bringing a cooler breeze from the northwest that lifted the day's warmth. Again Serena was amazed at the marked weather changes. She untied the white chemise sleeve laces from her elbows as a chill crept into the air and asked Darien to fasten them at her wrists. She offered her arm across the table.

"Something simple, please," she added, recalling he had a tendency to tie hoisting knots with the laces, in which case she needed help getting them untied. Between them was the game board and pieces. She tried not to sound too interested. "How long will we be in port?"

"We'll leave late tomorrow."

"Won't it put us behind to meet Zoicite?"

"Don't worry about missing him, Serena. He can't possibly get there in the time we do." He watched her set up the last few carved pieces on the game board. "Besides, you're not anxious to go back to him."

She didn't look up, but her fingers tightened on the miniature camel of petrified wood. "You don't read women very well," she said lightly, smiling slowly and reaching for her cup of cider.

"I know you well enough."

"Then you've fooled yourself."

The heliotrope lizard moved across from her onyx seal. "I don't think so. You never wanted to marry him, and now that you know he's a slaver, you're having even more doubts."

She laughed lowly and let her cat take his frog. "Darien, I never admitted to believing he's a slaver because I do not believe it."

"But you don't want to marry him," Darien persisted.

"I told you," she said, irritation rising, "that's not an issue. If you want to antagonize me, just tell me what you'll do if Zoicite doesn't bring Joshan."

He scowled as she took his owl. "I'm not trying to nettle you, woman," he denied briskly.

"Don't," she said when he moved to fill her empty cup with rum. For a few moments they played in silence. He frowned as she captured four of his carved animals. He'd noticed changes in her since the _Red Shark_ had attacked. She was playing unusually aggressive, but that had been a gradual improvement over the last few weeks.

True, she had not exactly confessed to believing his accusations, but he had evidence to prove her undecided. She did believe Joshan existed, and that was why she was unsure about her future. She hoped Zoicite brought Joshan to Cold Rock to buy her release, but it also meant conceding what she didn't want to be true about her betrothed husband.

"Would you rather have sherry?"

Serena looked up from taking his coral bird. "No, thank you."

"Have you thought any more about going back to Izramuth?"

She glanced at him narrowly. "And deprive you of freeing your brother?" She shook her head, lips pursed. "Zoicite agreed to an exchange."

Darien leaned back in his chair, suddenly restless in the warm evening after the much cooler ocean nights. "Well, there are ways around that. If you're interested."

"I am not. I wouldn't do that to him." Her ivory owl was across from his lion.

"He wouldn't know it was your choice. I'll just default on my promise. Pirates are expected to do that," he said without humor.

Serena's hand posed over the board, then took her time moving the black amber cat. "Why does it matter to you?" She regretted the words even as she said them. His answer came immediately.

"Because that bastard doesn't deserve you," he said in a cutting tone she hadn't heard before. "You're innocent of this whole mess. You should go back to your father's house."

"To be stoned for dissolving my betrothal? No, thank you," she said. "Your turn."

He shook his head, losing interest in the game. "Not if your father annuls -"

"Uncle Methuen was guilty; not Zoicite," she maintained. She stood up and went to the other starboard window by the bench to avoid his perseverance.

"Did he ever deny having slaves?" he asked from close behind her.

She didn't turn around, wishing the night was darker. "We never talked about it."

"He's deceiving you." Darien watched her hair bounce as she shook her head.

"I'm Izmaruthen; he'd assume I was in favor of the practice." Her frown intensified as she glared at the neighboring pier. "I've thought of that too."

He made her turn around, surprised to find turmoil rather than hostility in her eyes. "He'll never know you went back home, Serena. If I show up without you, he'll challenge me out of duty to the family, if nothing else. You won't -"

"And you'll kill him like a cornered alley cat," she snapped, choking down the lump that welled in her throat. Her arm tensed in his hold.

"Don't underestimate a cornered cat."

She searched his eyes with unconcealed anguish, withdrawing from his grasp. "Please don't tempt me to go home, Darien. I can't. You don't understand it's not as simple as you say." Her voice was subdued, almost broken. "You said you would let me go in exchange for Joshan. Is that a promise you're so willing to break too?"

His gaze fell over her pensive frown, her eyes as deep as cobalt. She didn't move away when his fingers gently pulled at a soft curl of her hair, but there was a distinct admonition in her face. With a restrain he didn't recall possessing, his hand dropped, avoiding further contact. He nodded.

"I'll let you go, Serena, but you'll regret it," he predicted lowly. "And you'll pray for widowhood."

Serena refused to think about Darien's offer to return her to Izramuth when she went to bed that night, but it was on her mind when she awoke the next morning. In the early rays of sunlight, however, the option appeared even less appealing.

Death by stoning was the common answer to a broken engagement, whether the man or woman was found at fault, and exceptions were rare. The law was enforced not so much as a punishment to the unhappy newlywed or affianced party, but as a penance for the father's besmirched name. Cruel as it seemed, many men found it easier to have a disobedient son or daughter stoned than give up their prestigious position in the town gates. Stonings were uncommon under Queen Menat's rule only because arranged marriages were quickly becoming unfashionable except by a few religious sects.

It wasn't only the threat of stoning that kept Serena from accepting Darien's offer for passage home. She didn't believe her father would allow her death in such a manner, and he would probably even retract her engagement, but it would always be counted a disgrace to the family, and one the Izmaruthen would mock. No native of the country could believe a fellow citizen would renege on an arranged marriage simply because slaves were involved. Her father would become a laughingstock in the province, and Serena would not subject him to that.

She lay still in the bed, watching Darien shave at his washstand. She had awoke shortly after him, but he wasn't aware of her attention. Her eyes went from the bandages on his arm to the older scars on his back. His hair was a bit longer than Zoicite's, dropping below the nape of his neck in a belligerent black shag.

_He's an attractive man_, she thought in fairness, _and very unlike a mercenary at times._ He was six or eight years her senior, she guessed, and not overly familiar with the manners she deemed necessary for a gentleman.

_He'd never claimed to be a gentleman,_ Serena thought wryly, but he did exhibit a certain gallantry in offering to take her to Izramuth. His noble suggestion also made her wary. She wasn't sure if he had recently found his conscience, or was just an extremely convincing liar. Last night his insight into her feelings for Zoicite was a little too true. Again.

She couldn't decide if his was a genuine invitation to avoid a miserable marriage or yet another attempt to torment Zoicite. Either way, she wouldn't consider the offer. If Zoicite was not a slave owner, as she hoped, he could not ransom her and she didn't plan to find out if Darien would spare her life. As for his confrontation in Cold Rock without her, Zoicite would have to rely on his own merit and skill. After all, Darien seemed more confident in Zoicite's swordsmanship than she was, and that had to count for something.

Serena averted her eyes hastily when she realized Darien was returning her unfocused stare. It was too late to feign sleep, so she sat up as he stepped to the bedside.

"I'm leaving a few windows open partway," he said, watching her pull the sheet to her chest. "The auction should be over by noon. Do you want to go back into town later?"

"Yes, I'd like to."

He nodded, gesturing to the table. "Brons has been in already. Do you need anything before I leave?"

She shook her head, and he left the room. She moved quickly to the starboard window locked open a hand's breadth when she heard the outside stair door close. He never left the portside shutters open, fearing she would call attention - and perhaps aid - from the nearby pier.

This didn't concern Serena today, for her escape did not depend on squeezing through a window. After a moment she saw Darien reach the end of the pier and turn onto the dock side of the walk. An amused smile came to her lips when she saw an early rising harlot sidle up to him. His gait slowed for a moment and Serena watched him shake his head until the dark haired woman planted herself in front of him with determination.

Serena laughed aloud as he pushed the whore aside and continued into town. She wondered with vague interest if the woman would lure him into her scented bed after the auction.

She straightened the bed sheets and ate all the vanilla flavored rice and flat bread at the table hurriedly. With care she slipped the bleached chemise over her head, leaving the loose sleeves untied, and tightened the green velvet skirt at her waist. The embroidered black bodice she fastened next, pulling the laces evenly, and tied the drawstring at the chemise's wide, gathered neckline.

The strand of emeralds and golden topaz glimmered in the morning sun as Serena held it, again debating the price it would bring. The sleepy green gems flashed as if to argue against her decision to sell them. She sighed and put on the necklace, coolly observing their glint in the armoire mirror. She shut the closet door and took out the fringed shawl and slippers from the other side.

Darien was in good spirits as he and Serena rejoined the heavy traffic of Brimshire's thoroughfare that afternoon. The auction had gone well, bringing unexpectedly high profits for the Nyan weapons, and most of the crew was already squandering their cuts in the local brothels and taverns.

At his side a blonde haired young woman stood close, her fingers light on his sleeve, unaware of the prurient glances of the townsmen. The lewd attention did not evade Darien, and Serena looked up when he took her hand possessively. She didn't comment on it; instead she displayed interest in a jeweler's shop across the lane.

Her curiosity wasn't in the jeweler's workmanship, but in his reaction to the necklace she wore. She saw his old eyes light up at the gleam of the emeralds when they went inside, and she knew he was estimating their worth. They spent little time in the shop and within moments were back on the street.

Serena bided her time as they visited a table where a woman displayed fine laces and collars and another stall of leather tooling. Darien released her hand to examine a baldric of bicklath leather and she waited a long moment at his elbow before leisurely stooping to adjust her slipper. She watched his eyes move over the sword holster, and then she dissolved quietly into the thronging street.

She didn't look back. Her feet clipped quickly across the packed clay as she tied the shawl over her head in the noisy street. He didn't call her name, and she knew he would not. No; he'd swoop down on her like a chicken hawk, as in the valley, and it would be a silent attack.

For a long while she moved on hastily, dreading the moment a hand would close on her shoulder. As she continued through town, however, Serena's confidence grew and she chanced a covert glance behind her from an alley to catch her breath. There was no sign of Darien. She studied the crowd of shifting faces for a moment longer before again taking flight.

She dared not believe her fortune yet. At the center of town the commons square opened and let out to three other avenues. She took the right and made a mental note of the route back to the jeweler's shop. The traffic here dispersed into the square and she slowed her pace to a quick walk. It wasn't until she turned another corner and the crowd thinned further that she saw Darien closing in fast behind a man carrying a rolled rug.

Serena's feet swept fleetly over the street as the steps behind her broke into a run. She took the next corner at a dash, hoping the street looped back to the square. It did not. It ended in a large walled, concave patio where women were washing clothes at a well.

She slid to a stop on the slick cobblestones, pausing for only seconds as Darien entered the enclosure. She spied a narrow alley and rushed into it, passing an old man with a cane, hearing one of the women reprimand her pursuer. Like the well clearing, the alley ended abruptly in a small walled hollow where a still was working.

She didn't look behind her as she took hold of the woody vines that laced the rough walls, praying they led to an outside garden. She pulled herself up rapidly as Darien grabbed her ankle. She cursed, kicking awkwardly, but his other hand snatched her skirts.

"Don't make this worse than it already is, Serena!" he warned, dodging her flailing leg.

She didn't say anything, but pulled futilely on the top of the wall as he slowly dragged her down.

"Leave that girl alone!" the old man's rough tone called out. He was ignored by Darien.

Serena tried to pull herself over the edge of the wall, both arms latched onto the top stones and vines, gritting her teeth against the hand on her ankle. As she desperately clung to the vines, Darien released her suddenly. The disengagement resulted in her not only clearing the wall, but toppling into the next alley.

Serena heard an old man's irate voice shouting again and then the thud of what sounded like the cane on flesh from the other side of the wall. She hurriedly got to her feet. She hadn't even taken a step when Darien dropped down beside her and snatched her wrists in a bruising hold, shoving her against the wall. She winced as her back hit.

"Are we back to this?" he demanded as she glared at him.

"Let me go!"

"Why did you run?" When she refused to answer, he folded her hands behind her in a stifling embrace. "I thought you were through with this foolishness!"

"You think I'm going to wait around to be butchered like a trapped rabbit?" she bit out, twisting against him. "Suppose Zoicite doesn't bring your brother? What are you going to do with the bait?"

He frowned, tempered empathy making his embrace change, but not relinquish her. "I recall giving the _bait_ a chance to go home."

A guardedness caught in her voice, and with it came a subdued sincerity. "Tell me, Darien," she entreated, actually leaning closer to him. "It can't matter to you if I know."

His expression darkened instantly, his hand snatching hers, and he towed her down the alley. "Isn't it enough to know you won't be sold or killed, Serena?"

"Do I know that?" She braced herself at the next corner, halting their progress. "Why won't you tell me?"

Darien appraised her swiftly, noting the scratches on her arms from the wall. He cursed himself for nearly yielding to her inquiry. Instead he jolted her into motion again and with the action renewed her latent fears.

Back on the _Eliana Nor,_ Serena's trepidation eclipsed her rationale. The cabin seemed to have shrunk during her all too brief absence and the confinement only worsened when Darien locked all the shutters closed against the falling evening, save the one by his hammock.

She could have tolerated the shut up room, but when he wrapped a rope around her wrist a moment later, her spirit collapsed.

"Darien, no, please. You don't have to do that," she pleaded.

"You've proved otherwise," he said firmly.

She held her other hand behind her back when he reached for it. "I'll behave. I promise." Her eyes went to the bench seat. "I'll sit by the window, and I won't even move," she pledged hopefully.

He shook his head and reached for her other hand.

"Could I at least change my clothes first?" she asked with a despondent sigh.

His eyes flicked over the rumpled skirt and bodice that had become untied during her flight over the wall. He loosened the rope hastily. "Be quick."

When Serena disappeared behind the screen, Darien pulled off his own shirt. He unwrapped the cloth at his ribs and examined the stitches. They held, but two were bleeding slightly and bruising was renewed where the old man's cane had landed twice. He washed the irritation and donned another tunic from the wardrobe, leaving it unfastened in the warming room. He glanced at the screen as the skirt and chemise fell over its edge.

"You didn't run away because you were afraid of anything I'd do to you," he said when she appeared in the lilac night slip of silk. He had expected the long sleeved flannel chemise she had been wearing during the last few colder nights and for an instant he savored the change.

Serena felt her cheeks heat at his unabashed attention and she reached for the flannel dressing cote in the armoire.

"You know Zoicite is a slaver, and you're running away from _that_."

She shrugged into the cote, flipping her hair out of its collar. "That's not true," she said without conviction or malice.

Darien took two bottles from a cabinet by the hearth. "Set up the game board."

"I don't care to play anymore."

"If you win, I won't tie your hands tonight," he said, but she shook her head. Brons interrupted then with a knock and supper. He shot suspicious looks at Serena and his captain as he set the table. When the boy was gone, Darien pulled out Serena's chair, but she only shook her head again.

"Come on," he growled. "I know you're hungry."

"No, thank you."

Darien shoved the chair into the table, cursing womankind in general. He locked the hammock window shut, then fixed his own plate and went into the office.

Serena stared after him with confusion, her eyes dropping to the rope on the sea chest. By the pitch of the bells from other ships she knew the office windows were open. She sat on the bed edge as an unusual weakness settled over her, and she knew it had nothing to do with her desperate flight through town.

It wasn't the first time she had sensed the hollowness, but never had she felt it so completely. Darien was wrong; she was certain it was him and an unknown future she was trying to escape that afternoon, not Zoicite. Despite that, she also knew, he was more correct than she was able to admit. And she was getting tired of thinking of him as being right.

She pulled the raspberry cote laces and absently retied them in a large, loopy bow. With a dejected sigh, Serena let herself think the unimaginable; Zoicite was indeed a slaver, and she was going to marry him. Her eyes closed in grievous realization. Perhaps she had secretly admitted it to herself long ago, and only now could she consciously finish the thought. She wasn't sure.

Darien had offered to take her to Izramuth after he obtained Joshan's release, she recalled with a small hope, staring at the floor, but it was a short-lived cheer. By conceding Zoicite a slave-owner, another dreaded outcome surfaced, and it was this one she feared most.

Zoicite could not return Joshan: it would be an admission to Embrosse's most terrible crime. She knew Zoicite would not confess to it. Instead he would try to pay Darien by another means.

Her finger straightened a crease in the silk slip, watching the material unfold softly. Darien would not accept Maeyen carnelian, but there had to be something he would consider. He was a pirate, the greediest of thieves, and Zoicite was a very rich man.

Serena approached the office desk hesitantly, summoning what remained of her courage. She sat on the edge of the tapestry covered chair as Darien looked up from the ledger.

"Bring your supper in here," he said mildly.

"I'm not hungry."

His attention turned back to his own work. "Please yourself, Serena."

For a tedious moment she watched him chronicle the auction profits, recognizing a few of the Randalian characters. In the steady lamplight she could see the faint scar at his temple and her eyes went to his bandaged hand. She wondered if his injuries were enough to handicap the odds in Zoicite's favor should a challenge arise.

"What will you do with me?"

A tolerant scowl claimed his features. "We've been through that already, Serena," he reminded wearily. "If Maeyen shows up with your ransom, you know your future."

"But if he doesn't, and - please let me finish," she said as he began to interrupt.

"Go ahead."

"He may not ... Would you accept anything else for my exchange, Darien?"

"No."

She watched the quill scratch ink on the ledger. "Zoicite is a wealthy man," she added, the lilt returning to her voice. "He could offer more than carnelian. We have copper in -"

"I haven't spent the last three months making arrangements for a cargo I could lift off any vessel," he said with sudden annoyance. "I want Joshan, and that is all I will accept. No negotiations."

"And if he doesn't bring him?"

"Then he won't leave the port alive."

Under his stare Serena's eyes went back to the ledger. For a fleeting moment she wanted to tell Darien she believed him, and that he was right, and that she was terribly sorry he would not get his brother back. Instead she stood up.

"I'm going to bed now."

He sat back in his chair and nodded to her. "Good night."

She paused, unsure, but certain she was not going to remind him of her binds.

"I didn't forget," he said quietly in answer to her unvoiced concern, his expression softening as he studied her worried face. "Good night, Serena."

"Thank you, Darien. Good night."


	13. Chapter 13

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Thirteen**

The _Eliana Nor_ left the Brimshire harbor that night and headed north again to Cold Rock. Serena relinquished all thoughts of escape and resolved to waiting sedately for Zoicite's appearance in the northern port. She was exhausted from justifying and rationalizing, doubting and moralizing, and waiting. She felt as if she and Darien had somehow called a truce since her flight in Brimshire. She wanted the whole thing to be over, however the outcome.

The _Nor_ reached Cold Rock late a few days later as a thick fog rolled into port. The crew was not happy with Darien's order to remain dock side of the town's liberties, but contented themselves to what conveniences were available.

Darien allowed Serena time on deck as they were docked the next day, knowing she understood too well the slave industry that bloomed in the port. He was confident she wasn't foolish enough to chance an escape where she would run the high risk of being abducted by slave traders.

With a day before Zoicite could possibly meet them at the port, Darien took Serena to a bathhouse and requested a private room, not trusting the public pools. She stayed close to his arm as they entered one of the nicer bathhouses and followed the short, heavy-set hostess up the corridor well-lit by colored glass candle lamps. They continued down a hall on the second floor and halted halfway down. The woman gestured to a door beside a bench, smiling, and spoke in a language Serena didn't understand. Darien answered her in the same and escorted Serena into the room as the woman departed.

The interior consisted of a small room divided from the more spacious private pool room by a series of sheer and lace panels. They passed through these and Serena stood nervously in the larger room as Darien looked out the balcony window. He nodded with satisfaction at the two story drop, and then pulled out the rattan changing screen attached to the wall. She watched him light the floor candelabras in the semi-dark room, her fingers tensing on the expansive towel the hostess had given her.

"Have everything you need?" he asked.

"Yes."

He gestured to the screen. "I'll take your clothes now."

She stepped back. "That's really unnecessary, Darien."

His eyes fell over her slowly. "What confidence do I have you will not try to escape?"

She held his stare with a frown. "You think I would go out the window in _this_ town?"

He smiled at her pout. "I put nothing past you, Dey Bella Ver."

She began to feel the heat from the floor lamps. "If you leave," she decided, fingers twisting the towel, "my clothes will be by the door. If you leave."

A tap came to the door and the hostess set two glazed jars and a sponge inside, then shut the door again. Darien retrieved the items and put them in Serena's hands.

"By the door," he relented, "or I come in and get them."

She clutched the sponge tightly. "There will be no need for that, Captain."

When he left, Serena put the jars that smelled of ylang ylang and sandalwood with willow by the pool waters and took solace behind the screen.

_Pirate_, she thought in spite. _Not even a decent bath in peace._

She undressed and tossed her chemise and skirt to the door, succeeding only in tangling them in the dividing curtains. She groaned and crossed the room to quickly disengage the material from the lace and sheers and scoot them to the door, then hurried back to the pool and waded deep into it to her collarbone. A moment later she heard a knock at the door and Darien opened it to see the clothing.

She returned his gaze, sinking to her chin in the waters. She then gathered her nerve and turned her back to him, facing the balcony with a quick blush in the flickering candelabra light. The door closed behind her.

She sighed and couldn't deprive herself a glance backward. Her clothes remained in a heap at the door, and she was finally, indeed, alone. She let her hair fall back and weight with water, watching the candlelight play on the rippling waters about her.

The past few weeks had been too much. Her capture, what she had learned of the Maeyen family, her feeble attempts at escape, the foreign raids on the _Nor_ - she wanted to wash it all down the drain of the pool. Zoicite could never imagine what she had been through. The price Darien demanded of him in Cold Rock would pale compared to what she would extract from her future husband during their marriage.

_How could he stomach the slavery Darien had endured as a young boy? How could he continue Methuen's brutal practices?_ She would not fool herself into thinking working conditions in the mines had changed under Zoicite's control. _Why should they?_

She sighed, soaking the sponge and sprinkling one of the jars' contents on it, vaguely wondering if the scents Darien supplied were because he thought she liked them or because he did.

_Zoicite should consider himself fortunate Darien didn't go to Kind Thulgarde with this dilemma,_ she thought. A royal audit would be called - a lengthy process - that would expose the Maeyen malpractice. King Thulgarde may grant Zoicite a certain leniency, but he would not be spared a measure of loss and humiliation.

_If it got that far,_ she reconsidered, sighing as she drew the sponge over her arm. Darien might be right about Zoicite evacuating the boys from the mines before a royal inspection could be called.

She sunk deeper into the water, glancing at the other jar by pool edge. She didn't envy Darien's predicament at all.

After the bath, Serena moved docilely through the streets that evening, her hand tightening on Darien's arm when the overt leers of a few men rested on her. She was appalled when one swarthy man had the nerve to attempt buying her from Darien, and comforted when the offer was refused.

They found a clean food house off the main street and returned to the _Nor_ shortly before dark. Serena was relieved to be back on the ship, but not because she longed for the confinement. The port traffic made her uneasy, with slavers hanging around every corner, ready to snatch any unescorted young woman who loitered too long in the street. Never had she felt such a concentrated depravity as she had in town, even after weeks on a ship of pirates.

Darien dropped the bamboo blinds in the bedchamber and turned down the lantern wick at the ceiling. He looked to Serena emerging from the folding screen. "Set up the game board."

"I told you, I don't want -"

"I do." He saw her shoulders sag, but she retrieved the game from the chest as he had requested. "Your husband will be here day after tomorrow, possibly by tomorrow night, with the best speed, and I want one more game out of you."

"Doesn't Lucas play?" She arranged the carved pieces on the table as he added wood to the fireplace.

"Your company is more pleasant than Lucas'."

Serena felt her cheeks heat momentarily as she sat down and accepted the sherry he offered. She took a deep breath, her mind drifting from the game at hand. With plots of escape evicted from her mind, another more urgent problem pervaded her thoughts. She'd spent the last day and a half deciding whether or not to tell Darien of this newly discovered danger, but was unsure how best to approach the subject. In all probability he had already considered it, she consoled herself, but made no mention of it.

"You've been too quiet lately," he said as he packed the pipe. Her agate elephant moved first. "What troubles you?"

She culled her wits and took another deep breath, watching his eyes move over the board. "Honestly?"

He adjusted the table lamp wick in the falling darkness. "Yes. Honestly."

She made an effort not to bite her lip nervously. "Darien, Zoicite won't bring your brother for my ransom," she said levelly, trying to measure his response. "He'll meet you, but not your demands."

He didn't move the howlite horse, but set it on the table. "When did you see him? Recently?" His eyes narrowed. "Is he in Cold Rock now?"

"Oh, no. I mean, I didn't see him," she said quickly, tensing at the dark look crossing his face. "I haven't seen him since Leneau."

He looked at the white horse and put it back on the board, nodding. "Why do you think he won't bring Joshan?"

She shook her head, still awaiting his move. "If he brings your brother, or any slave, it will be admitting guilt to your accusation of slavery."

He pushed the horse a space. "I'm asking for one slave. A child. Not the release of his whole work force."

"He won't see it that way."

"I didn't throw this before your king, Serena. It's between me and Zoicite Maeyen. And you," he growled. "It involves no one else."

She slid the black cat across from his frog. "But it does. It's not as simple as you think." She leaned closer to the table. "You slaughtered his whole household and stole his affianced wife just before the wedding - a wedding King Thulgarde was to attend. That kind of action will not go unreported. King Thulgarde will know only Zoicite's side of the story."

He frowned, considering what she viewed as a major incident. "Your husband would be a fool to go to his king with this. He'd be discovered as a slave owner, and that would be the end of the Maeyen fortunes."

"No, no," she said, suddenly vexed, the night too still, too quiet. "Zoicite won't tell the whole story, Darien." She shook her head and moved her owl, only to have it taken by his jackal.

"Is this the same man you called upstanding? Honest?" He took a long drink from the bottle of brandy. "Are you having doubts, dear Serena?"  
"Doubts?" she repeated with a short, unamused laugh. "I'm past doubts, Darien. I'm saying Zoicite will tell the story of a pirate laying waste his house and kidnapping his wife, and how he'll do whatever it takes - pay any price - for her safe return," she told him heatedly. Her eyes held a brilliance he had not seen in days and her knuckles turned white around the cat she clutched. She sat back from the board with an effort at calmness. "He'll have every sympathetic ear within riding distance. He'll try to buy me, like a slave, and if you won't settle for his price, he'll go home a hero who tried - and failed - to rescue his wife from a cutthroat."

He shook his head.

Serena nodded, and said limply, "He'll probably say I'm dead already."

For a moment Darien appraised her pout and the simmer in her bright eyes in the lamplight, considering her verbal barrage carefully. Her eyes lowered over the game, dark lashes hovering over several pieces for a moment. She drank the cup of sherry in one swallow and continued glaring at the board.

"I'd say you're far from dead." He refilled her cup, hearing the unruly sounds as some of the crew returned from town. "What makes you say all this now? It must have taken you some time to put that story together."

Serena took the amber cat from the board and studied it, her thumb pressing on its black neck and following the arched, smooth back. "I've just now admitted you're right," she relented, meeting his eyes slowly, the corners of her lips pulling down. "If he tries to buy me, will you accept his price?"

He shook his head. "Not unless it includes Joshan."

"But it won't!"

She stood up abruptly, her own inquietude culminating in a helpless alarm. She went to the open port side window and looked between the slats. "He wouldn't have to go to Lusson. He could even be here now."

Darien crossed the room and flipped the blind shut, turning her around to face him. "What kind of ruse is this?" he demanded, his arm blocking her path when she tried to move away. "Is this your idea of arbitration?"

Serena's eyes searched his in the muted light, finding only steeled suspicion. "If Zoicite shows up without Joshan, you'll kill him," she said simply, her tact gone. "What will you do with me?"

"That again?"

She nodded, the guardedness falling from her posture to reveal the raw vulnerability she had tried for so long to conceal. She didn't move when he touched her cheek gently and his other arm slipped lightly around her waist. The fixed doubt disappeared from his eyes as his lips met hers warmly. He pulled her closer, a swift engulfment as he kissed her mouth fully with unexpected tenderness. Her hand slid to his collar, tightening on the material, then braced at his chest as his hand embedded in her hair, cupping her head. For a moment her lips were eager on his, fingers pressed on his chest, the scent of the sea around him. She ended the endearment abruptly and caught her breath, eyes focusing on his with sudden realization.

"No. No, stop," she said lowly, pushing against him. She was exclusively aware of the stillness in the room.

His embrace loosened only minutely and he noticed she didn't move away, remaining pressed to him. His arm at her waist moved along her spine, fingers gentle on her back. "You've never been kissed before?"

She swallowed awkwardly, feeling a pulse in her fingertips on his shirt. "Not, not by ... by a ..."

"A pirate. Is that all you think I am?" he asked, her hair soft beneath his hand. "I am not immune to you, Serena."

She closed her eyes momentarily, stifling a willingness that welled within her, and sunk from his arms as they reluctantly dropped. His hand went to her cheek tentatively and she shook her head.

Darien hesitated a moment, watching her eyes cloud with uncertainty before stepping away. He went to the table and took a moment to finish the near empty bottle of brandy. Without turning around he said: "I'll take you home. To Izramuth."

Serena frowned until she recalled her previous question. "I can't go back home."

He collected another dark bottle from the cupboard and looked at her with contained appetence. "You can't go back to the valley without a husband, and you won't be his widow because you haven't married. I see no alternative." He paused at the bedchamber door, estimating the tangle of relief and agitation in her face for a moment. "Good night, Serena."

"Good night, Darien," she said softly.

After he went into the office, Serena went mechanically to the table and placed the cat game piece on the board. The miniature animal's ears left pointed imprints in her palm where she had clasped it so tightly. The table lamp's wick was low, but she didn't adjust it. Her eyes went to the hearth as Darien added wood from the other side, then she glanced at the open door.

She took a long drink of the sherry, but the strong wine did little to soothe her racing heart and thoughts. Nor did it erase the memory of the pleasant pressure of his kiss. With a deep breath she finished the sherry and considered pouring more, or something stronger, but did not.

_It wasn't supposed to happen,_ she thought. She didn't think it was something Darien had planned, either. How could she let her captor hold her? Kiss her? She stared unseeing at the game they hadn't finished. How could she respond as she did?

With discreet chagrin, she begrudgingly admitted not only to returning his kiss, but that she wanted to remain in his arms. The blush rose anew over her face and throat when she thought of the brief, sheltered warmth he supplied and the scent of the sea surrounding him.

"Romantic fool," she whispered, chiding herself stoutly.

She turned out the lamp and crawled into bed. Light from the fire glowed into the dark room and she felt an insecurity when she looked to the slack hammock in the corner.

Zoicite would never accept her in marriage if he knew of the encounter, or how she felt about it. She burrowed deeper into the sheet and quilts, restless and complacent at the same time.

Wasn't she was entitled to a moment of romance, however questionable, she asked herself. There were no other such memories for her to summon, and she would need an occasional glimpse back to this night after she was married. She could not live on Zoicite's perfunctory kisses all her life.

But Serena wasn't convincing herself it was a faceless, nameless shadow she would think back on. She was very much aware it was a pirate on horseback who had plucked her out of the valley at a mad gallop. A man who held her captive, demanded a ransom for her return, but who had treated her kindly and shown her more attention in three weeks than her affianced husband had in six years.

She put her head on the second pillow, watching the twin moons between the window slats. It would be her only memory; she would dodge any other such instances with him, should he initiate any.

She sighed sadly, doubting he would even remember the short encounter by morning. Surely he'd forgotten far more intimate contacts than her fleeting kiss.

And he would forget her, too, or recall her only as a failed attempt to obtain his younger brother's freedom.

Her fingers wrapped tightly in the sheet at the thought. She didn't want to be remembered as a slaver's wife, or a frail, spineless girl who had been led blindly to the marriage block.

"No," she breathed into the still night air. "Darien won't let Zoicite live if Joshan doesn't come to Cold Rock with him. And I can't go back to Izramuth." She sighed, thoughts of her father sifting through her minds. "I won't disgrace you, father. I understand my duty."


	14. Chapter 14

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Fourteen**

Darien stood at the _Nor's_ quarterdeck, looking out over the sleeping town early the next morning. Much as he hated to admit it, Serena's prediction as to Zoicite Maeyen's reaction did make disturbing sense. He hadn't thought much about the possibility of Maeyen refusing to part with even one slave for his fiancée's life. His consideration had centered more around his course of action if Joshan hadn't survived the Ibereth mine collapse.

He watched the port slowly come to life as the mists hung over the waters. Most of the ships docked were pirate and a few he recognized as thinly disguised slave transports. It was a safe port for questionable traders like himself, where the felonies of one criminal blurred and paled against the rampant corruption.

But it wasn't the magnitude of the city's decadence that played on Darien's mind. Earlier that morning he had dispatched Lucas and two other men by horse to scout out the Maeyen mines near Lusson. Zoicite's mention of the mine could be a false ploy altogether, but Darien wanted to know if Joshan was there. Zoicite Maeyen would buy the boy with his own life if he refused to bargain for Serena. Surely the mine overseer could not deny an offer to ransom his master's life.

If Serena was correct in her analysis about Maeyen, he also knew, there may be an attempt to take her from the _Nor_ while they were docked at Cold Rock. An unpleasant smile crossed his face at the thought. He would welcome such a confrontation, knowing it would result in Zoicite's demise.

He scowled suddenly. But that was not his ambition. He only wanted Joshan back.

Which was partly why he was disappointed in himself for succumbing to those cobalt eyes that drew him close last night. Too close.

"You're slipping, Montaro," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he watched the city across the dock. Her soft form within his arms had haunted his dreams last night, the slight tremble of her lips when he'd first kissed her, the hesitation that disappeared when her hand clutched his shirt.

"Not again," he cautioned himself. Nothing to interfere with his goal. He sighed. That might not be so simple; Serena presented quite the enticement, even if brief.

The day passed leisurely without sign or word from Zoicite. The bustle of the town activity rose and fell as the day wore on, oblivious to the two figures waiting on the _Eliana Nor_. Serena observed the business of the docks, watching for a familiar form that would confront Darien and, hopefully, take her home. She had little faith, however, in such an encounter. She believed Zoicite would come without Joshan, and Darien would refuse any negotiation or payment.

It wasn't loyalty or love that made her wince at the thought of Zoicite's death. She wasn't anxious to see him take the full punishment for a crime initiated before his birth. Zoicite wasn't innocent, Serena rationalized from her perch on the upholstered bench at the window; he was only continuing an illegal family practice.

But most of her turmoil came from visions of going home to Izramuth. She couldn't tell her father of the Maeyen family secret. She must return as the unfortunate bride whose future no longer held a bridegroom. It had to be that way, she told herself.

She could never prove Zoicite as a slaver to her father, not without months of constant doubt. There was no proof, only Darien's word - if he even consented to vouch for her as witness first-hand to the Maeyen slave practice - and that would only be taken for what it was; a pirate's honor. She looked to the bedroom doorway as he appeared there.

"Get your wrap. We're going to find some supper."

Serena took his arm without hesitation as they walked down the long pier and into town, feeling a security with his nearness. The thoroughfare still swarmed late in the day with a variety of criminals, prostitutes, and a scatter of legitimate shop owners. Again Darien was approached by a slaver to part with Serena, and his answer was the same, but this man was more persistent. He was a tall, tightly built man, and his eyes went over her in a way that made her feel invaded without being touched.

Darien shook his head adamantly and spoke briefly in a dialect she didn't understand. He ushered her down the cobble street quickly. "Put your wrap up."

She complied, pulling the shawl over her head like a himation.

"You really look Izmaruthen now."

She adjusted the draped hood as its edge swept the street. "Is that good or bad?"

He shrugged, feeling her hand tighten on his sleeve. "Good, I guess. If you like Izmaruthen women. Which I do," he added. His tone grew stern. "Did you know him?"

"Who? The man who - back there?" She frowned, stepping carefully over a patch of uneven stones. "Of course not. How would I know him?"  
"Maeyen may send someone to try buying you."

She considered this and dismissed it hastily. "He would come himself."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." The answer sounded flat and unconvincing, even to her.

"Have you changed your mind since last night?" Darien moved the shawl to see her face clearer, grinning as her eyes rose to his. "You still hold allegiance to a man you don't believe will trade one slave for you?"

"I told you, it's a bigger issue than that," she said stiffly.

"I see it as a small price for a lovely bride."

She made an effort to return her attention to the street ahead of them.

"But you may be right," he admitted with a sigh as he stopped and glanced up at a food house sign. "This one will do."

Serena was quiet through the meal and Darien didn't demand her conversation. He contented himself to admiring the determined set of her lips, and the blush that bloomed when she caught his stare. She said nothing, but the thick lashes dropped, hiding her not-altogether hostile eyes.

He watched her knife saw at the coarse meat on the dish, noting she ate little. The crystal beaded shawl lay on her shoulders beneath waves of golden hair and he recalled its silken touch last night. There hadn't been the familiar sent of jasmine to her, but a bolder, intoxicating scent that seemed headier after the first touch of a kiss.

Her response to his caress had been an unexpected welcome, even if too short and he knew it wasn't out of practiced accomplishment, but of neglected longing. This realization galvanized his thoughts, his attentions focusing on Serena's fuming features across the table as she tried to read his mind.

He sat back. "Ready to go?"

They reentered the bustling streets as the sun surrendered toward the watery horizon and the concerned townsfolk hurried home. Serena made no pretense at bravery, but pulled the shawl over her head and stayed close to Darien's arm. As they rounded the first turn of the wide street, a man stepped before them.

"Captain?"

Darien appraised the man swiftly. "You have business with me?"

"Possibly." The thin man looked to Serena, committing a slight bow. "My pardon, dear lady," he said with an accent she didn't recognize. He turned back to Darien. "My companions and I seek passage to Jorz Baed. No cargo. We would be pleased to leave tomorrow."

Serena looked away as the men spoke, watching the stars wink on overhead in the red-violet sky. She heard Darien refusing the fare and referring the man to solicit at another tavern.

The thin man asked for directions, but she didn't hear the answer. A hand covered her mouth from behind before she could cry out and a thick arm came around her with stifling force. The shawl was slung over her head as she was pulled clumsily backward. The hand at her mouth moved and she was heaved off her feet and over the back of her attacker.

Serena wasn't sure screaming would have any affect in the dark streets filled with mercenaries and thieves, but she did it anyway. Her arms swung wildly, clawing, and one elbow made contact with her abductor's face. She pummeled him, kicking and pulling at the shawl as he ran through the streets and alleys. He dropped her suddenly and she hit the ground of the uncobbled alley. She flung the shawl from her face and scrambled to her feet as the man reached for her. In the dim light of the alley she recognized the man who had tried to buy her earlier.

"Now, set down, pretty," he said in his crude version of Embrosse. From his belt he took a short sword. "No fight, no hurt. Okay, pretty? Just a sample of you. See how best to sell you later."

Serena took a stunted look behind her at the dark alley blocked by cages of roosting chickens and then back at the stocky man. He waved in an unappealing beckon, closing the short distance between them quickly.

She bolted, but again he caught her, his thick build belying smooth reflexes. A smothering, unwashed odor overwhelmed her as he pushed her against the block wall. The sword point was at her throat, checking her further struggles. His eyes went over her slowly, stopping momentarily at the emerald necklace and resting again on the fitted bodice and white chemise.

When his hand went to her breast, Serena struck him as hard as she could, feeling the sword tip etch into her skin. His dark eyes narrowed to knots and he back-handed her, sending her to her knees against the wall. She folded from the blow, but was only conscious of her dress starting to rip and the chill night air on her bosom. She covered herself and turned her face to the wall as his boot aligned to her head.

But the kick was never completed. She chanced a look up to see the burly man had turned, the sword brandished as Darien launched at him with his own gauche. The man growled something Serena didn't understand, and Darien beat him back to the roosting cages.

The clash of metals rang through the alley as the man threw Darien back a few feet, his blade slicing open his shirt sleeve.

Darien brought the sword across the man's chest, opening the shirt through to the skin, and then another swipe that half cut his throat. Serena held her breath as the man looked with shock at Darien as they circled each other for a long moment, until her view of Darien was blocked by her attacker.

Suddenly his back hunched as the end of the sword thrust through it. The gauche blade retracted as the man made a guttural, choking sound and the sword point suddenly protruded up from his shoulder blade from inside. Darien let the man drop, the long knife still embedded in the stocky man's abdomen. He stepped past the fallen man and kneeled at Serena's side.

"Are you all right?" His face hardened as she sat up straighter and held her dress tighter. "Are you hurt, Serena?"

She shook her head, eyes still on the man's dying form. "I didn't run away," she said shakily as Darien's hands closed around her arms and pulled her to her feet.

"I know you didn't." He touched the small slit on her neck with his thumb, cursing at the filthy handprints on her torn dress. "Did he do anything to you?"

She shook her head. He leaned her against the wall and found the shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, feeling a trembling seize her body. He gently settled his arms around her shoulders, holding her closer, loosely, sensing a restraint in her poise.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked when she looked up at him, her body still tensing from him.

"Yes." Her fingers clutched the shawl shakily as he took her hair out from the collar.

"All right then," he said as she looked back to the dead man. "Let's go."

Darien hurried her through the shadowy streets to the docks and his ship, his emotions conflicted as she alternately clung to his arm and kept the few inches of space between them. In the cabin bedchamber he made her face him, and turned her chin to examine the slight cut at her neck, but she insisted on changing clothes first.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, filling her washbasin pitcher with fresh water from a bucket near the hearth.

"Thank you."

He nodded and left her alone in the room.

Serena went behind the folding screen and hastily removed the vest, velvet skirt and ripped chemise, tossing them over the divider as the repugnant stench of the man came back to her memory. The mauve flannel gown settled on her in a comforting embrace and she sighed, feeling strangely protected, as if the soft fabric would quell her chills. With new assurance, she poured water into the washbasin and scrubbed her face and washed her neck, arms and shoulders, shaking a scented oil into the water.

Darien returned as she finished and she accepted the pewter goblet he offered. She took only a small sip of the strong liquor tinged with cinnamon and anise.

"It stopped bleeding already," she said as he touched the nick at her neck still stinging from the perfumed water.

"Doesn't look like it will scar," he decided. He dumped the basin water out the window and poured in fresh. She flinched when he soaked a cloth and held the cold, wet surface to her swelling lip. "It's not cut bad, but it'll still bruise a little. He hit you the one time?"

She nodded, her thick lip uncooperative.

"Any teeth loose?"

She shook her head and took the cloth from him.

"Open."

She frowned. "I will not. My teeth are fine, Darien."

"Keep the cloth on it for a while," he said with a grin, sorting through her armoire. He found the flannel cote and held it as she slipped into it. "You didn't know him?"

Her pout was hampered by the puffing lip. "Of course not. Zoicite wouldn't send someone to assault me. I'll do it," she said as he began to tie the cote laces at her collar into a large knot. "By Tow, you could raise a mast with this."

"Not quite." He took out the knot he was fixing and led her to the fireplace. "Drink that and you'll feel a little better."

She sat in the cushioned chair, the cloth at her lip and the drink in her hand. The coldness kept the swelling to a minimum, but she didn't like the thickness when she spoke. Her bare feet rested on the hearth as the flames leaped higher into the chimney.

Darien took another main gauche from the case and brought it and the polishing compound and sat by the fire. He turned the twisted brass handle, inspecting the blade's straight edge, eyes flicking to the slender ankles in view below the flannel gown at the hearth. He looked up at Serena's bemused expression, softened further by the low firelight, and chose his words carefully.

"It shouldn't have happened, your attack," he admitted with unaffected frankness after several long moments. "Charades like that are common in slave ports. I should've recognized it." His hands stilled on the gauche and he said gently: "Serena, I'm sorry."

A short smile touched her mouth, hidden by the cloth, as she assessed the sincerity in his tone. The words surprised her, a little. "I know it wasn't your doing," she said as a slow blush heated her face. She didn't know if it was from the brandy, the fire or his genuine concern, but she blamed it on the drink.

For a while she watched him bring a gleam to the knife's long blade. As she did, the trauma of her assault dissipated to be replaced by another concern. She wasn't confident in her ability to sway Darien's determination, but she was aware she had persuaded him to subtly alter his plans before. She put her tongue to her lip, judging that the swelling had shrunken.

"If you kill Zoicite, you'll never get your brother back, Darien," she said, anticipating his retort.

His eyes fastened on hers with a weary restraint. "I told you my decision, and it's not open to debate."

"But it's true," she urged, the lip making her words sluggish.

"Perhaps." He ran a cloth down the clean blade, catching the fire's light. "Perhaps your husband will be more serviceable alive than dead. He may even be worth enough to exchange for Joshan."

Serena forgot her injured lip. "You would hold _him_ for ransom?"

"Why not?" His voice hardened despite the appeal in her face. "You're convinced he won't trade a slave for you. Maybe he'll value his own skin more."

She watched him add more compound to the blade. "But you don't," she said almost inaudibly, her eyes dropping to the fire.

"Should I? I only guaranteed your life; Not his."

She heard him, but didn't say anything. Zoicite was doomed if he did not bring Joshan. Darien was resolute this time. She knew it by his posture, and how he didn't look at her; she'd learned that much about him. She folded the warm cloth and absently held the coolest side to her lip. _It may not come to such extremes,_ she thought with fading consolation. Darien had come for his brother and wouldn't be compensated by any other settlement.

She sighed, staring past the fire, absorbed in thoughts of disillusion. Perhaps there would be another time to plead with Darien for Zoicite's life before the confrontation, a meeting which could turn deadly for Zoicite if Joshan wasn't to be delivered. There was still time for Darien to reconsider, but not much.

She refused to acknowledge the small whisper echoing in her head that demanded to know _why_ she would plead Zoicite's refusal to Darien if he wouldn't render the boy for her life. Was it only because she'd listened to the half truths of the Maeyen family history for six years in the Valley? There was much truth in what she'd been told for all those years, but never had anyone hinted at the dark reality of slavery.

_No_, she thought, focusing on the flames in the hearth. _If Zoicite doesn't bring Joshan for me, his life would be out of my hands_. She sighed, watching Darien glance briefly to her. Fragments of a plan she'd begun to form tried to surface in her mind, but Serena pushed them away.

Even then she'd have to marry Zoicite.

For four days the _Eliana Nor_ lay still in the Cold Rock harbor. The time passed slowly for Serena, whose thoughts volleyed between an unexplainable loyalty to her espoused husband and hatred for his amoral practices. Zoicite was late, there was no question, but Darien's promise for her future had been kept. He hadn't taken measures against her, or even made new threats, and it resulted in an endearing trust in him. She idled the days sitting at the window bench with hopeful anticipation, her eyes moving along the dock traffic wehn she was allowed - escorted - onto the deck, and attempting to find interest in the books from the cabin office.

Darien himself didn't take the wait well, either, but he spent most of his time on deck, also waiting for Zoicite Maeyen. He was wary, too, for any sign of military or other mercenary force that would try to interfere with his plans. He doubted action of the former effort, believing that Maeyen would prefer quiet, unspectacular attention for his business rather than deal with the ramifications on legal authorities. The threat of hired mercenaries was possible, and the Maeyen finances could well afford top swordsmen.

On the fifth night, Serena awoke to the bedroom door closing softly. She lay still, at first only aware of the fire snapping, and then distinguished low voices from the office. She looked to the unstrung hammock and silently got out of bed and slipped into the dressing cote. From beside the fireplace she heard Darien's low voice, followed by Lucas'.

"... or anyone," she heard the mate say midsentence. "But it's been occupied recently, within the week, and by a lot of people. Young too. Most were small footprints. All bare."

"What about the mine itself?" Darien asked from the office.

"Boarded up tight, and quick. The tar hadn't yet set."

Serena sat crouched at the flickering hearthside, Lucas' words making her fingers tighten on her flannel gown. She waited to hear Darien's response to the news.

"Were you watched?"

"I don't think so. There were four low barns with chains and ring posts and two ox stables, but no animals. Everything was cleared out."

"Where did they go? Which direction?"

Serena heard Lucas sigh. "A couple different ways. Single file, so I couldn't tell how many went each way. Traffic was heaviest south, though, and the animals and wagons went that way. Toward the valley."

"Maeyen wouldn't keep a slave force in the valley," Darien disagreed. "My guess is he's spreading them out. Maybe even hide the most in Ibereth for a while. Those shafts could easily swallow an army, even collapsed."

Serena took a deep breath as the men's conversation lagged. So that was where Lucas had been. She'd noticed his absence, but it didn't occur to her the mate had gone to the Lusson mine. She heard the sound of a bottle scrape the desk edge.

"He never even considered meeting me here."

Serena's breath caught as Darien's words lay suspended in the air, then their weight sank into her.

"He won't just abandon her," Lucas said.

"Looks like he has."

Serena felt a chill creep up her spine despite the fire's proximity, eyes opening wider.

"A girl's been around here looking for you," Darien said suddenly. "Brunette. Half Dembian, I think."

Lucas laughed. "Risa."

"You owe her money? She was awful anxious to see you."

Serena heard Lucas' low chuckle. "It ain't money she wants. There's another girl there, at the house Risa keeps at. Hair like the sun, eyes blue as sapphire."

"How poetic, Lucas."

The first mate belched. "She speaks Randalian too. You'd like to hear that for a change. She'd take your mind off Maeyen."

"I'm not finished with him yet," Darien said. "If Joshan is still alive, I'll find him."

"I wasn't talking about _Zoicite_ Maeyen," Lucas emphasized.

Darien allowed a short laugh. "You've still got time before we sail. Better get to Risa's bed before she finds someone else."

Lucas sighed. "Yeah. She fills it fast."

Serena heard a chair move on the floor and she hurried noiselessly to the bed, tossing her cote on the bench as she went. A low mumble of voices continued for a moment, followed by the outside door opening and closing. She lay curled in the bed, scarcely breathing, her face tucked so she could only see the low fire beyond the tall bed posts. She waited for the bedchamber door to open, but it remained shut. She heard the creak of the office chair, and she relaxed, confident Darien didn't suspect her of eavesdropping.

When the door opened several long moments later, she laid still, her face half hidden in the pillow. She closed her eyes, making herself breath rhythmically. The smell of ashes grew strong as Darien added wood to the fire and the floorboards squeaked under his step. The footsteps grew closer and forced her breathing to remain steady when he pulled the comforter higher over her. His hand paused, touching her cheek lightly where the bruise had nearly faded, and then she heard him step away.

Serena tried to calm her racing pulse as sounds of the hammock being retied reached her ears. Her eyes opened halfway, the shadows hiding her face. She watched him lay there in the hammock, knowing he didn't see the ceiling at which he stared.

Zoicite was not coming for her. Darien had said it; even Lucas couldn't believe it, and now Serena had to accept it. Lucas had given unknown testimony that she couldn't ignore. Zoicite didn't count her life worth a possible accusation of slavery. Easier for her to be lost among the slave traders in ruthless Cataduke than risk the Maeyen future. She was expendable; his position on King Thulgarde's court and the collapse of his family fortune were not.

There would be other chances to marry. When news of her death hit the inner courts - and she was sure he would report her dead - every unwed daughter would be put on parade. She was a sacrifice he could accept.

Serena forgot her pretense at sleep in the quiet night and rolled over. She could see both moons out the window cracked open, each small and only a luminous sliver in the clear skies. It should have been a beautiful sight, the hanging arcs of opal, but she didn't see it as so. Instead she saw the fading orbs being slowly eclipsed, suffocating in the dark night. In a few nights there would be no moons at all, as if they were being squeezed out of the sky.

She buried her face in the quilts, her tears falling silently as her hands knotted in bitterness in the comforter at being forsaken.

Did her life mean so little? Was it so convenient to let her go? Serena tried to checks her sobs, but they had taken hold. When she felt a hand on her hair she knew it was Darien, but she only turned deeper into the pillow as he sat beside her.

He pulled her up and closer, taking the comforter from her clenched hands, arms settling warmly around her. She dared not look at his face, content only that she was within his arms, that she wasn't completely deserted for the moment, at least. She didn't even care that her cheek rested beside her uncle's mark of slavery on his bare arm.

Darien let her weep for a long while, until her tears subsided, resting his chin gently on her head, resisting the impulse to kiss the top of her hair, even in consolation, believing he wouldn't stop himself there. Her hair was smooth and lush, its shine like copper in the firelight as he gently brushed it with his hand. Even when her body stilled its trembling, she remained close, unwilling to move away.

"You were listening," he stated more than asked. Her hair bobbed against his shoulder.

She let her hand follow his arm, halting at his elbow that curved around her. He felt her posture stiffen, but not pull from him. She wiped her eyes, her thoughts in disarray, and finally looked up at him.

"When are we sailing?"

He sighed, overly conscious of her delicate spine beneath his hand. "Tomorrow."

"To the valley?"

He nodded and put a finger to her lips when she began to speak again. "But that's all you need know, Serena. No more questions."

A distinct tenseness came to her body now. "But what -"

"That's all," Darien repeated, not wanting to release her as she pulled slowly from him.

She wrapped her arms around her bent knees, still studying his face intently, teary eyes still shining. "Do you really think Joshan is alive?" she asked, her tone void of insult.

"I don't know." His eyes dropped over her features with an appreciation not completely veiled. Her fingers tightened on her arms, but she didn't rebuke his attention. He wondered if this was an attempt at a new unreservedness or sheer contempt for Zoicite's memory. "You still don't want to go home? To Izramuth?"

She shook her head, sighing. "My father would -"

"All right. All right," he said with a tired defeat. He stood up, muttering something she didn't completely hear. "I won't make you go back, but there are to be no more questions. Your future is safe, as far as I am concerned, Serena. Content yourself with that for now. Understand?"

The words were not stern, but quiet and reassuring, as a father would speak to a scared child. She nodded, her inquisitiveness pacified for the moment. "I understand."

"Good. Sleep well, firefly."

"Good night."


	15. Chapter 15

**I've been asked to help spread the word: _users are currently unable to upload documents in DocX format to the doc manager._**

**My lovely reviewers: I'm so very glad you're all enjoying this story. Yes, this story was finished (I wouldn't post it and leave you hanging like that! That would be cruel!). Also, no need to to thank me! I should be the one thanking you all for reading, reviewing, etc.! So thank _you_. I appreciate and admire _you_ guys. :)**

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**Satin Hostage – Chapter Fifteen**

The strong northern winds filled the _Eliana Nor's_ sails, stretching the canvas and pulling at taut ropes. The air was cold, not merely chilly, and the afternoon waves capped a solid while against the bounding hull.

Lucas and one of the Delucian men were angling fishing lines baited with lard over the ship deck's starboard rail out of boredom rather than hunger, but their efforts found little reward. Serena watched their sport from where she stood at the quarterdeck rail, understanding how even such a chancy pastime could prove moderately interesting if one had been at sea too long.

Serena herself was not bored. She had spent the first day they left Cold Rock feeling hurt, and the second angry, during which time she had hurled the carnelian and onyx signet ring into the cobalt Rellion waters. Now, several days later, she was resentful and even a bit belligerent, but an increasing sense of obligation weighted her.

Refusing to return to Izramuth wasn't entirely to save her father's dignity, as she wanted Darien to believe. If Zoicite thought her dead, the letter may already be on its way to her family under a Maeyen sail. Her appearance, especially by an accommodating pirate, wouldn't project an honesty to her father. He would question her morals, her affections and loyalty, and probably come to a conclusion even she would find conceivable. It would not only be an inaccurate determination, but may result in Darien being hanged for his trouble.

Serena looked to the quarterdeck steps as he climbed the short flight to the cabin roof.

"Spot any whales?"

"No."

"Dolphins?"

She shook her head as he leaned on the rail beside her and watched the churning sea. After a moment he looked at her hand now minus the signet ring.

"You've done a lot of thinking the last few days. What's on your mind?"

She let herself study his profile, admitting his features more than simply personable, refusing to think back on the night she'd found herself in his arms. Her eyes went to the water below. "You."

"Me?"

She nodded and faced him with a directness he'd seen her exhibit more lately. "It's very considerate of you to offer me passage to Izramuth."

This time Darien nodded, but not necessarily because he agreed. "You should never have been a part of this, Serena. It was a mistake to take you."

She smiled knowingly, and looked back out over the azure waters. "You only say that now because it was a failure."

"True," he said slowly. "But I do mean it. This was not your problem."

She sighed, scowling at the sea. "It is now."

He watched her eyes move over the choppy waters as a couple of gulls called from overhead. "You haven't asked what will happen to you."

Her frown turned from irritation to a subtle exasperation. "You told me not to ask," she reminded without looking at him, her gaze following a gull that scooped a fish from the water.

He laughed, catching a corner of the shawl as the wind swept it from her shoulder. "That never stopped you before."

Serena turned as she retied the wrap and held his stare. "Would you tell me now?"

For a moment Darien considered her carefully, at odds with the words on his mind. She'd come to his ship a scared, ignorant girl, steadfast in her loyalties and certain of her affianced husband's constancy. She had slept in his bed, worn the clothes he gave her, even provided a strained form of companionship. And, for his ruination of her world, she was left with her fiancé's faithlessness, and was about to inherit a lineage of barbaric slavery. Worse yet, she was willing to go back and fulfill her dutiful place - preordained by her father - as Zoicite's wife.

"I'll take you back to the valley," he said finally.

Serena's face dropped. "To _stay_?"

He nodded, watching her closely, hoping for the response he wanted.

"But, but ... You're not giving up on Joshan," she said with an urgency he didn't expect. "You can't just leave him."

"No. I'll find another way. One that doesn't include you."

She swallowed the lump that lodged in her throat. "Thank you," she said lowly, unsure why she felt tears forming, turning to the sea.

"You'd actually go back to him?" Darien demanded, a sudden causticity in his tone. He wanted to shake her hard enough to rattle some sense into her. Instead he took her arm and made her face him. "How could you, Serena? He sacrificed you for -"

"He didn't!" she snapped, the deep-rooted fealty returning in force, entrenched by years of hearing the Maeyen legends. "There's a reason. He wouldn't abandon me. There's been a mistake."

He stared at her with disbelief. "Give me a reason he didn't come to Cold Rock."

She frowned at him stubbornly, twisting, trying to free her arm, but failing. "Maybe he did. Maybe you took too long getting there!"

"I told him two weeks," he muttered, fingers tightening. "Embrossen weeks. Twenty days, Serena. We docked in eighteen days, and sat in that harbor another seven. He didn't show up because he wasn't there. Even if he cleaned out the mines, he could have at least tried to bargain for you!"

She glowered at him, her frown now a pout. "You never told me what you'd do with me. What is it?"

"Oh, I'll take you back," he promised coldly, returning her fierce look as their conversation drew attention from the men on deck. He stepped closer, his voice low, but still pointed. "You do deserve to marry him. Perhaps your convictions on slavery aren't as strong as you thought."

She opened her mouth, but all she could manage was a meek, "No..."

"I think you can turn a blind eye on it, Dey Maeyen. It'll be easy for you. You'll never have to see the mines, the boys." He shook his head, dropping her arm. "What a pair you'll make. A cowering mouse and a blind cat."

"I have to go back," she said, her fingers locking on the rail. "You don't understand!"

"What don't I understand?" His eyes searched hers, leaning closer as she backed away a foot. "I'll take you back to -"

"I can't," she bit out lowly. "I'm not free like you." She immediately wanted to call back the words, but it was too late.

"You can be," he said more moderately, watching the indecision narrow her eyes.

"I can do better by marrying him." The words ended in a choke, and Serena felt ill at saying them.

"Better for whom? Your father?" He pressed on. "Easier than facing up to him with what the Maeyen's really are?"

She frowned at him, trying to speak through lips now threatening to tremble. "If I'm Zoicite's wife, my charge of slavery will weigh more heavily than any you could ever make, Darien. King Thulgarde will listen to my complaint. We'll go to Ridollin next summer for courts, and I can -"

"I'm not willing to wait six months for Joshan," Darien growled.

Serena's fingers knotted around the shawl edges as the wind gusted. "I can't do anything else, Captain."

"You can go home."

She shook her head, looking back out at the sea, eyes narrowing over the waves. "You don't understand obligation."

"I understand fact. You're making a mistake, Serena." He halted himself from the next words that came to his mind. "If you -"

"You get your brother back however you can, Captain," she said, facing him, the simmer in her blue eyes cautionary. "I can try to remedy this situation as his wife; going back to Izramuth would be cowardly. I can do more by staying in the Sol Min Valley."

He shook his head. "I don't agree with you, Dey Bella Ver," he said slowly, watching her brace herself at the rail as a swell caught the ship. "It's not your place to fix this."

Her lips set in a defiant line. "It will be after I'm married."

For a long moment they remained staring at each other, and Darien hated that the soft vulnerability she'd brought to the ship was now replaced with resolute duty. He knew he should admire the quality in her, but he only wanted to wipe it out of her and take her back to Izramuth.

He sighed. "So be it."

The altercation left a foul taste in Serena's mouth, and it led to many poisonous thoughts that night and the following day. She and Darien exchanged only a handful of words in that time and she refused to meet his eyes at all.

She chided herself for letting her gratitude change so quickly to a groundless defense of Zoicite. She had thought long - much too long - about her justification for his apparent selfish surrender of her. And to leave her to a pirate who had promised to sell her into slavery, of all people.

There could be a reason, she admitted to herself that next afternoon, but the bulk of her persevering vindication sprung simply from living for six years under the Maeyen roof and hearing and believing the daily propaganda of the family's virtues. She had to admit she hadn't followed the time she had been onboard the _Nor_ as closely as she should have. Too much had happened recently to keep track of time, especially when her future and the Maeyen history were at war. But she did know, despite what she had said to him, that Darien was not late in reaching Cold Rock.

As for her decision to marry into the Maeyen family - not really her decision, actually - she was disappointed in herself, but there was a little hope in thoughts of being able to free the mine workers after she'd married.

_After_ she'd married.

The thought left her nauseated. Six months was a long time, especially as a newly wedded bride. There were other obligations expected of her. She tried to force those thoughts from her mind.

Serena looked back down at the chapbook, sighing, and then back out the window by the bench in the bedchamber. Only four more sonnets left she had not read, but she was in no hurry to translate them. They weren't enough to keep her mind off the vindictiveness seeping through her loyalties. She wasn't returning to the Maeyen household a naïve, accepting girl. Zoicite would have a chance to explain himself. She would have to give him that opportunity before passing her own, final judgment of him. She would let him try to talk himself out of being a slaver, if he could, and why he had left her forsaken in Cold Rock.

Her lips pursed, recalling Darien's words from when she had first come to the ship. Perhaps spite was what drove wives to take lovers and turn children against their fathers. _Surely bitterness would lead to an early death,_ she thought sadly.

Or, Zoicite may even have a perfectly believable reason for his actions.

But she had no confidence in it.

Darien's thoughts had been similarly occupied by Serena's willingness to go back to the Sol Min Valley, but he hadn't come to the same conclusions as she. He didn't believe his own accusation of her view of slavery, nor could he comprehend her unwarranted fidelity. Her plan to correct the Maeyen slavery may work, but would take time, and great personal risk to her.

What he disliked as much with almost equal disillusion was that he even cared what she did. Had she agreed to go back to Izramuth, he would have been satisfied. He hoped. He wasn't sure how much of his disappointment was in her actual absence, and how much was that she would be in Zoicite Maeyen's bed.

But there was a way around that, Darien had discovered. Well, not exactly around the problem; more like a shortcut to a future even Serena would deem better than a life of captivity to Zoicite. One of the most appealing aspects of the plan was that she would not have to make the decision he was entertaining, and she wouldn't know of it until its completion. She would be a rich widow, and young enough to do something about it.

Darien looked out over the _Nor's_ deck from where he stood on the quarterdeck at the growing darkness. The dispatch of the eight men had left a hole in his crew, but Serena hadn't noticed it, or at least made no comment, if she had. He frowned. With as little conversation as they had had in the last few days, he doubted she would voice the observation. It was a tension he didn't like, but there seemed no way to absolve it. He looked up suddenly at the darkening sky.

When he stood in the bedroom doorway a moment later, Darien knew Serena had already seen it. The window was open wide over her bench seat where she leaned on it, her arm outstretched at the sill to catch the falling snow. Her breath crystallized in the air, but she was oblivious to the cold in pursuit of the gently descending white.

She smiled as one of the larger flakes lingered on her arm before dissolving on the warm skin. She looked up at the air laden with white. Its quietness surprised her. For some reason she thought snow would make a noise when it fell. Rain did. Sometimes it made a terrible noise. She glanced to her side as Darien entered the room and leaned against the armoire.

"What do you think of it?"

She reached out the window again. "It's beautiful," she breathed, watching it settle on the calm waters. "It sinks fast, but it isn't heavy."

"It melts when it hits the water."

She looked at the sea dubiously. "The water isn't warm enough to melt it."

"It's warmer than the snow." He watched the flakes fall thicker, lighting on her arm. "Come out on deck. You can see better."

She shook her head with a low laugh. "I'd make a giddy fool out of myself."

He crossed his arms, watching her. "The crew won't mind."

"I prefer to be a fool in private." Disappointment edged her voice. "Would it be snowing in the valley now?"

"No. I doubt it's even snowing half a day closer to the coast." He watched her try to pick out the snow trapped in her hair. "We'll be docking in four days."

"In Leneau?"

"No." He read the expectancy in her face. "If you don't know, they will not question you," he said lightly.

Serena leaned against the wall, withdrawing her hand from the window and shaking the snow from her hair. "You think I would try to turn you in?"

He grinned at her pseudo-earnest demeanor. "I don't know. Would you?"

"Of course not." She shared his smile, relieved the formal atmosphere of the last few days was dissolving. "How much are you worth?"

"In Embrosse?"

She nodded, watching his eyes with amusement.

"Not enough for the trouble. King Thulgarde has been on the lenient side since the Messel War." He saw a blush rise over her cheeks that tempered her smile, but her gaze remained steady.

"I wouldn't help turn you in if I could, Darien. And I hope you do get your brother back," she said without reserve.

"Thank you. And I do hope you will be happy in the valley, however your future turns out." He saw her guardedness return with a false boldness. "Do you feel up to a game before supper?"

The _Eliana Nor_ docked at Port Tel Vale south of Leneau. Serena didn't know the town's name, nor did she ask, but she knew it was not the same port at which she had first saw the _Nor_. She was amazed how fast the return trip had passed with the strong northern winds, and Darien's refusal to engage other ships, compared to the leisure voyage to Cold Rock.

The large village was very much like Leneau had been. Fishing boats lined the harbor and shoreline and women shopped at the open air market in the town's center. Children and dogs spent their time dodging parents and owners, and chasing each other down the sunny morning streets.

Serena smoothed the pale green sateen dress, welcoming the warm sun on her shoulders that morning. She found it incredible that less than a week ago she witnessed snow for the first time, and today she was again wearing a summer frock. But she would not be in it long, she knew. The material was ill-suited to riding, and she would change into the bronze skirt and ivory chemise before they left for the valley.

A sadness made her sag against the derrick base on the main deck as she watched the crew disperse anxiously into town. She looked to Lucas on the ship rail. Only someone of the mate's angular build could sleep comfortably on a balustrade.

_He's not really sleeping,_ she thought. _He can't be._

Surely such a precarious perch took balance. If he were actually sleeping, he would find himself flat on the deck or overboard. Nor would Darien leave her completely unattended while he found transportation in town. She saw Lucas' head tilt as he watched the last of the crew filter off the pier.

When Serena saw Darien return shortly after noon with a gray horse, she immediately disappeared into the cabin. She changed her clothes, forcing her hands into haste. She hung the mild green dress in the armoire and folded the screen to the wall, thinking how strange and empty the corner looked to her. With resolve she found the corduroy bag Darien had bought earlier that morning and stuffed the pearl and satin wedding gown into it.

"Take the rest too," Darien said from the doorway.

"That's very generous, but I can't," she said without looking at him. She paused as her hand rested on the emerald necklace as she considered it in the armoire drawer. The gold of the topaz caught the afternoon sun, making its facets gleam sharply. Her eyes went to Darien. "Do you want this back?"

"Of course not. Remember, it wasn't a gift."

A smile touched her lips only to fade quickly.

"Wear the boots."

She nodded, watching him retrieve an archer's bow and quiver of arrows from the weapons case. "Why do you need those?"

"Just a precaution." He looked over her apparel without expression. "Take the wrap too."

Serena felt a sinking despair as Darien swung up behind her on the tall gray horse at the edge of the dock a few moments later. The feeling seemed to magnify when the arm around her took the reins and the horse moved into the street. She looked back at the _Nor_, returning Lucas' wave from the bow.

As they continued down the street, she noticed the coquettish glances of the young maidens they passed, their eyes avoiding hers, and she wondered if one would meet with Darien's attention when he returned later. With a sudden possessiveness she let her back rest against him, relieved he couldn't see the glares she threw the women.

At the edge of town Darien took the horse to a canter over the dirt trade road. The gray gelding responded eagerly to the command, his long legs stretching hungrily, neck high and ears pricked. It made Serena recall how much she missed her daily rides in the valley.

_Well, there will be plenty of time for that in the future,_ she thought contentedly. She would make up for every lost ride within a week.

She didn't ask Darien how long it would take to reach the Maeyen estate. He would want to get there near dark, she knew, and that was all she cared to know. He'd said nothing since they encountered the trade road and she didn't initiate conversation, even after the horse slowed to any easy jog.

Her thoughts were on her homecoming, a not entirely pleasant event. No servants had survived Darien's attack on the household, but there would still be familiar faces to confront. Zoicite had returned with an entourage from horse hunting on the border weeks ago. In that company would be his chief advisor, Rubeus, a man Serena knew to be privy to all Zoicite's business.

Her appearance would be unexpected: Who could foresee a pirate returning a hostage unless the ransom was met? At least she had shock in her favor. That may even buy her a little truth, unless Zoicite and Rubeus had rehearsed their stories together.

She sighed. She hadn't even decided what to tell them about her release. Escape was out of the question, not when she brought her wedding dress with her. Perhaps a version of the truth was best. In any manner, she would have the solace of trauma. Zoicite would be so stunned and contrite he would have to grant her a period of unquestioned solitude to recover.

They stopped a few hours before nightfall for a brief supper of twisted bread and sausage, but neither Serena nor Darien ate much. They continued on shortly afterwards and she soon noticed the familiar purple velvet-leafed phyllia trees popular to the Sol Min Mountains. At this point Darien departed the trade road that skirted the mountains and cut across a slope peppered with the phyllias.

When they halted at the angled ridge, Serena recognized the Maeyen mansion, its courtyards and vineyards enclosed by the moat, a mere shimmering ribbon at the distance. She sighed, unconsciously settling against Darien behind her. He pulled her hair to one side and spoke in her ear.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he said lowly, watching her eyes take in the impressive view. "It'll take another hour to reach it, and it'll be dark then. Not nearly as magnificent."

She tried to laugh, but only shook her head. "I want to go back."

"It won't be the same as when you left," he added, his breath warm on her neck. "Everyone will be new."

"Not everyone," she said, trying to stay focused on her return. "But it will never be the same."

Darien kicked the horse into motion. He didn't believe she wanted to go back, but respected her sense of duty. There were words on his mind, words from his heart that he bit back as practicality rebuked him. He couldn't compete with the stability of the Maeyen empire. Piracy offered only uncertainty, at best, and even the most prolific careers were not long. Most ended in hanging; some worse. His privateer efforts had bought him a short-lived clemency along the Embrosse coast, but that too would dissolve. He wasn't yet ready to give up the life of piracy, and couldn't ask Serena to make it her life, not when she was so willing to go back to Zoicite.

He also knew her disappointment over the Maeyen family secret would abate with the widowhood he planned for her. The carnelian mines would be at her command. Embrosse inheritance laws were almost as impartial as those of Izramuth where women were concerned.

Her future would be at her whim then. No betrothal to obey; no husband to dictate. Darien would like to see that. He wondered how she would react to the freedom. Of course, this wealthy widowhood would draw every eligible suitor on the continent to her marble doorstep. He frowned, the thought not sitting well with him.

He halted the gray horse at the edge of the thick woods an hour later as darkness grew heavy on the meadow. For a long moment his eyes took in the vastness of the Maeyen estate. It sprawled to each end of the valley and back to the wooded mountain. He knew that because he had spent half a week surveying it and choosing the narrowest places to cross the moat. He recalled Serena's terror and desperate flight that day in the garden, then steeled his thoughts. He dismounted and lifted her down.

Serena looked with mixed emotions to the mammoth house in the distance across the moat, watching lights blink on in the different rooms, knowing they were lit by servants who had never seen their mistress. She clutched the upholstered bag tightly and looked to Darien.

"You'll have to go the rest of the way on your own," he told her. "I won't be welcome."

She nodded, a knot in her throat. "Thank you for bringing me back." She looked to each of his eyes, trying to calm her shaking nerves, wishing for a fleeting moment she were back on the ship and he'd force her to go home. To her father's house. "You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

"It will probably come to that, yes," he admitted with a slow smile. "But not tonight, and not when you're around. Would you be very sad?"

"I would grieve a proper year," she said, catching a smile as it formed. "I can't believe I'm discussing his, his demise with you. I, I don't really want him to die, Darien," she said softly, hating the weakness of her words and the implication within them. "Not really. But I want the slavery to stop." She took a deep breath. "I want that, Darien. Even if it takes his death."

"I see no other way to get Joshan back. I won't involve you."

She nodded, sighing.

"You'll be a pretty widow." Darien cleared his throat and looked back to the distant drawbridge. "I hope, for your sake, that Zoicite has a good excuse for not coming to Cold Rock."

"I do too."

"Will you marry soon?"

"I suppose so."

"Well, we'll be in port for a while, should you change your mind," he said, his sincerity holding her gaze.

"You're waiting on the men you sent out from Cold Rock," she ventured, smiling at his grin.

He was mildly surprised she knew. "Lucas told you?"

"No. You had them track the footprints from the Lusson mine. I would have done the same thing." Her smile faded and she tried to push it back into place. "You will find him."

He nodded. After a moment she extended her hand awkwardly, and he took it. He didn't shake it, but instead kissed the palm slowly. Her fingers curled against his face and Serena felt a sudden urgency to leave, and to stay. She reluctantly slipped her hand from his.

"Goodbye," she said quickly as her throat closed with a choking feeling.

He touched her cheek, only for a moment, memorizing her eyes, her face. "Goodbye, Serena."

She turned without hesitation and hurried out of the trees.

Darien watched her walk to the drive that led to the bridge as he fitted an arrow in the bowstring nock, should the gate guards give her any trouble. A sinking feeling pulled at him as her form became smaller, and he knew she took a part of him with her. Halfway there, torches appeared at the gate and the sound of chains straining under the drawbridge echoed in the still night.

His fingers tensed on the arrow as Serena slowed, then stopped as three men with torches rode out to her. One dismounted and paused, speaking to her, then took her bag and helped her onto his horse and led the animal back to the gate.

Darien sighed, knowing his vigil was unnecessary, but couldn't turn away until the torches were muted by the bridge closing. He took the gray horse's reins and swung into the saddle.


	16. Chapter 16

**Satin Hostage - Chapter Sixteen**

Serena stood expectantly in the hall with the accompanying guard that night, waiting. Her eyes rose to the burgundy and green fringed tapestries that hung from the high walls, then went to the gold statues on either side of the wide arched doorway and crystal chandelier. Everything was new, and for a fleeting moment she feared the house was no longer in Maeyen possession.

_Of course everything is new,_ she told herself sharply. Darien's men had destroyed nearly everything during her capture. _Destroyed_, she recalled, but nothing had been carried away as plunder. Darien had been specific about that.

"Dey Serena!" Rubeus' voice brought her wandering thoughts back to the present. She looked to him as he strode toward her down the hall, seeming to grow taller as he approached than she recalled. "I'm amazed to see you! Come, come, girl. Are you well? How ever did you manage to escape?"

Before she could answer, he was shouting orders to servants and escorting her to a parlor within the huge house. It was still a little sparsely decorated, but there was a few pieces of furniture and silk drapes across the wide floor-length windows. She took a deep breath, hoping Rubeus couldn't detect her trembling. He was an imposing man, second only to Zoicite in most household and property matters, and had always frightened her with the way servants jumped to do his bidding. But he is nothing more than a highly positioned servant himself, she reminded herself. His father had been in the Maeyen family service until his death shortly before she'd arrived from Izramuth, but she'd heard the stories of his command under Methuen's rule.

Serena stood as straight as she could, barely coming to his chest. "Where is Zoicite?"

Rubeus' face fell at her question, a movement she read too well. "Of course you want to see him, dear girl. I can't tell you how worried we've been about you. With that cutthroat," he scoffed with a haughty sniff.

Her hands tightened on the bag when a maid came up and bowed, and then tried to take it from her. "I'm sorry," she said lowly to Rubeus. "I guess I'm a little possessive."

"Go, go," he shooed the maid. "Of course you are, Serena. I'm surprised you're sensible at all after the ordeal you've been through. Please, sit down."

She sat on the brushed leather settee as another maid came in and bowed before pouring a crystal goblet of sherry for her. Serena murmured her thanks, and then looked to Rubeus. "Where's Zoicite?"

"He's still in Cataduke—"

"Cataduke?"

Rubeus continued quickly. "When that sea thief refused to negotiate in Cold Rock, Zoicite naturally went to Cataduke. Captain Montaro said he'd sell you there. Zoicite took twenty men with orders that every slave auction along the coast was to be covered for signs of you."

"So I could be bought, as any other slave," she finished, nodding. She allowed herself a long drink of the weak sherry.

"My dear, Zoicite couldn't see any other way to get you away from that pirate," he said gently.

"What about the ransom?"

Rubeus committed a contrived sigh. "Unfortunately, the boy Montaro demanded was killed in the Ibereth collapse," he said carefully, watching her steady gaze. "I'm terribly sorry it couldn't have been easier on you, Serena. How did you manage to escape?"

Serena set the sherry down. If Rubeus wanted so much to think she escaped, she would not disappoint him. She didn't believe for a moment his story about Zoicite negotiating with Darien. If anything, he was covering signs of slavery, or even considering an addition to his stables.

"We were in Cold Rock, waiting for Zoicite. We were there so long I thought Zoicite wasn't coming—"

"He tried, Serena," Rubeus insisted. "I don't know what that pirate told you, but Zoicite tried to reason with him."

She bit her lip to keep from defending Darien. Instead she nodded. "Well, I didn't spend much time on deck. He could have met him that I didn't see. Anyway, Da- Captain Montaro was drinking heavily one night. More than usual, I believe. Maybe it was after he found out Zoicite couldn't meet his demands," she added as Rubeus gave her his full attention. "I guess he got careless, because he didn't lock my door that night. Well, when he was sleeping later, I got some jewelry out of a chest drawer. It was mine anyway. A signet ring and a necklace with silver beads and oval carnelians. I don't suppose you remember them."

"The ring I do. You have quite a collection of jewels. Or you did before the tragedy," he said with disgust. "I'm afraid we haven't recovered them all from the moat yet. Heathens. But, please, continue."

"I took those and a couple other pieces from the drawer and made my way out. We'd been in port quite a while and what crew there was onboard were drunk." Serena gave a short laugh. "I could have announced I was leaving without waking anyone. Well, I waited until the next morning in a stable and traded the jewelry for passage to Leneau. I had enough left over for some modest clothing, but not a horse." She paused, considering his expression. "I've been walking all day, Rubeus. And I'm kind of hungry."

"Oh, my dear. I've been so thoughtless." Rubeus rose and bellowed for a maid as Serena finished the sherry. "I'll see you to your rooms," he said, taking her arm as she rose. "You must be exhausted."

"I am."

She returned to her old rooms on the third floor to find even more changes. One maid set the small table with silver dishes and goblets while another lit the brass candelabras and made a fire in the marble hearth. Serena looked to Rubeus, who still studied her closely.

"It's good to be home," she said with a brief smile, making a mental note to demand he address her more properly in the near future. "I was afraid the house would be gone, the way they attacked that ... the day ..." She took a deep breath as Rubeus patted her shoulder.

"It was devastated," he agreed, "but Zoicite saw nothing except that you were gone, Serena. He was a madman. Now," he said, taking the bag from her grip and putting it on a chair, "you are home, dear girl. This horrible mess is behind you. When Zoicite comes home everything will be all right. Tonight you just rest."

She kept the scowl from her face as Rubeus patted her arm again.

"I'll send a messenger to the Cataduke coast to fetch your husband. A maid will be in with a few dresses, but the dressmaker will come tomorrow for some fittings. Nothing survived that pirate's attack, I'm afraid."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"Good night, dear."

"Good night, Rubeus."

When he was gone, Serena thanked the maids and dismissed them, telling one to send in a bathing attendant. She paid no attention to the dishes on the table. Part of her actions she performed only for Rubeus' sake. He would surely question her maids about her mannerisms. She thought he believed her story of escape, but she would leave nothing to chance. Feigning fatigue and hunger would be natural expectancies. A bath would guarantee her privacy, and that she needed to dispose of the wedding dress.

With all her imagination, she couldn't fabricate a plausible lie for its possession, and she was no longer too eager to keep it; that Darien had spared it was the only memory she wanted.

She made sure she was eating ravenously at the table when the maid came to draw the bath and remained long enough at the table until both she and the maid who brought the dresses had left. She quickly slid the bolt on the suite door and took the corduroy bag to the hearth, and knelt beside it.

The satin ivory gown was still sleek, if rumpled, and her hands passed over the pearled collar. She stood and held it up higher, then looked down when something fell to her feet. She carefully picked up the lapis necklace and black amber cat game piece.

Serena sank to her knees, unprepared. The blue-violet and gold speckled beads flashed in the flickering firelight, but the amber cat seemed to absorb the beams until it radiated its own eclipse-like glow. This time she didn't fight the tears when they filled her eyes. She buried her face in the dress to muffle her sobs, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. The heaviness of committing a grievous error weighted her and she admitted the desire to stay on the _Eliana Nor_, even for a short time longer, with _him_.

When she finally wiped her eyes she felt weak, drained, and lonelier than ever. Her finger stroked the cat as if it would purr at her touch. She took the strand of lapis, smiling, and pulled the emerald necklace from the bag. She wondered when Darien had added the necklace and game piece. She wiped her eyes again, sniffing, and put the three items under her bed pillow on the bed, which she noticed was made up with its usual bedclothes. _So Darien hadn't had my bedchamber ransacked,_ she thought, smiling.

She settled at the fireplace again and with great effort, she ripped the pearls from the satin gown. They wouldn't burn, and if a nosey maid found them in the hearth, Serena didn't know how she would explain them. She looked around, and then went to the balcony entry and buried them deep in a potted fern. She stayed crouched near the planter base, not wanting to be seen by the grounds guards that patrolled the gardens and yards.

She went back to the hearth and sat by the fire, stuffing the satin dress onto it, watching the flames lick the wedding dress as if tasting it. For a few moments she watched the luxurious material succumb to the fire. Satisfied the dress would be reduced to indistinguishable ashes, she went in the bath, her thoughts far from the valley.

Zoicite returned three days later. In that time Serena adjusted to life in the valley again. Except for Rubeus, the only other familiar face was the old head stableman who had been part of Zoicite's company. He had been genuinely thrilled to see her, and she was happy of at least one truly friendly greeting. The other members of Zoicite's entourage were guards, personal attendants, and a few close friends who had been guests at the house. Most of the attendants were now absent, with Zoicite in Cataduke, Rubeus had told Serena.

The whole courtyard was clean, freshly whitewashed after Darien's attack. Upon inspection, the hedge maze showed little damage, she decided, and just looking at the foliage renewed memories of that day. Every statue, both inside the house and in the gardens, every tapestry, window lattice and even bed sheet damaged had been replaced, every wall scrubbed and painted. Oddly, some of the room in the east wing still smelled of smoke, she noticed, and upon further inquiry she learned that very little had been repaired. The east wing was to become their shared rooms upon marriage, and she found it curious that so much was yet to be done.

Of course, Rubeus had an excuse ready when she asked about it, claiming that Zoicite wanted Serena to oversee the renovation to fit her own designs. She didn't believe him, believing instead that the rooms were left undone because they thought she wasn't coming back and there would be no marriage. This news only spiked her indignation, but she instead told Rubeus it was a thoughtful gesture.

All the servants were new and Serena was met by sly glances and outright stares of curiosity. She wondered what they had heard of her, but didn't ask. She was mistress of the house, and didn't need to court their approval. She kept a careful cordiality with her two most personal maids, however, hoping their gossip would feed her ears rather than fuel their tongues. She could only imagine the stories that would grow from the grains of truth about the raid that would inevitably fall.

The morning after her return Serena obliged the dressmaker and was fitted for three dresses before tiring of the woman's shrill and endless chatter. She was eager to visit the stables, but disappointed to find her favorite mount gone and all new horses. Darien's men had scattered all the livestock to the point of even chasing them into the moat. Her eyes narrowed as they went over the horses in the paddock. Zoicite had wasted no time replenishing the stables, and she wondered if he had saw to that task before meeting Darien in Leneau. In an effort to keep a memory alive, she declined the stableman's choice of a bay mare and chose a leggy, spirited silver-gray gelding to be saddled.

Her solitary rides into the back of the Maeyen estate over the next few days brought objections from Rubeus, but Serena laughed off his concern, telling him she was hungry to see land again. Rubeus humored her when she didn't give in to his suggestion of an escort, aware this was not the same yielding girl Zoicite would remember. Nor did he know that beneath the simple skirts she wore, two necklaces and a black amber cat were tied out of sight.

Serena learned of Zoicite's return by the great commotion of servants in the hall late that afternoon on the third day. She heard Rubeus' hushed tones as he greeted the house's master and she moved quickly and quietly from the patio to the adjoining room. There she could hear more of the hasty whispers.

"Here?" Zoicite's disbelief was unconcealed.

"Yes. Three days ago. She escaped, Zoicite," Rubeus relayed lowly. "I told her you took twenty men to look for her on the Cataduke blocks, that Montaro wouldn't negotiate in Cold Rock."

"Good thinking, Rubeus. But the _Lady Maeyen_ -"

"I already took care of that too. A runner is retrieving the letter now."

"We'll be fortunate is it hasn't sailed for Izramuth yet."

"Yes," Rubeus agreed. "I've arranged for the perimeter guards to bring in six blonde, blue-eyed girls from the outer countryside in the next couple of weeks to substantiate your Cataduke search. Don't worry, they're being brought in blindfolded, and compensated for their silence. There'll be no loose ends to worry about. Now put on a relieved face and pray she's still chaste."

"Is she hurt?" Concern softened Zoicite's tone.

"Not that I've seen, but she's a bit impudent."

Serena scurried back through the room to the sunny patio parlor where she had previously been sitting. She smoothed the teal jacquard and scooped up the cat that had wandered onto the porch, sidling around the chair legs.

"Don't tell anyone I know," she said softly to the cat, who purred in response.

"Serena, dear," Zoicite said as he appeared in the doorway.

She swallowed the first inappropriate words that came to her mouth and stood up, letting the cat's claws snag her hem as it dropped. Before she could utter a word, Zoicite crossed the rug and hugged her tightly. Her arms automatically responded, and when she saw Rubeus in the archway beyond, watching, she leaned into the embrace.

"Zoicite," she said, taken aback by the whole scene. "You're home so soon."

He looked at her quizzically, brushing the hair from her face. "So soon?"

"Rubeus sent messengers to look for you only a few days ago. They couldn't possibly have reached you already."

"No, no. I left Cataduke over a week ago. I couldn't find you anywhere." He smiled, touching her cheek. "I told everyone you took ill just before the wedding, to give us time to sort this whole mess out. I left men in every slave port," he said gently, soothingly. "I couldn't bear the thought of you on an auction block."

Her smile did not reach past her lips. "Neither could I." She estimated the regard in his eyes and cursed herself for ever believing in his virtue. "I must admit, there were moments in Cold Rock when I thought you had given me up."

His protest came immediately. "Never. That barbarian wouldn't take anything for your exchange except for a slave I don't have anymore. I'm sorry I failed you, Serena," he said with a sincerity she would have been tempted to believe had he said it before the raid. He held her at arm's length, his eyes going over the rich teal dress that lent a deeper blue to her eyes. "This is a different style for you."

She smiled fully, amused at the appreciation in his face. "Do you like it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"It's simple, I know, but the dressmaker is working on others."

Zoicite led her out farther into the sunny patio and sat with her in a wicker settee as a breeze blew in from the west. He called to a maid to bring out wine and took Serena's hand firmly.

"Did he hurt you?"

It took her a moment to realize he was referring to Darien. "No," she said in a subdued voice, letting her eyes drop. "It was my worst fear, but he never touched me, Zoicite, except for that one day on the deck. When you were there. I don't think that would have lasted much longer, though, after you didn't bring the slave."

"I wish I could have." His finger went to the faint mark on her hand from the marmar.

She gave a short laugh. "That's from the maze hedges. One of those barbs."

He nodded, holding her hand tighter. "How did you escape?"

She told him, as she had Rubeus earlier, varying the words and embellishing only minutely. The simpler the story she created, the easier to remember it.

They had dinner that evening in the large, echoing hall, just Zoicite, Serena and Rubeus, and the men questioned her about her treatment on the ship. She told them little, claiming she had spent most of the time locked in inner quarters. Zoicite commented on her paleness and loss of weight, but she excused these out of sheer melancholy.

She also recounted Darien's attack on other ships, and the times the _Eliana Nor_ was victim. These she conveyed with partial accuracy, expressing only her helplessness and terror. She watched Rubeus' jaw tighten at her story, but it was Zoicite's reaction that impressed her the most. He scowled, his hand clenched around the crystal wine glass until she thought it would break, and his face grew darker as she ended her story. With an effort his hand relaxed from the glass and reached for hers.

"I'm sorry, Serena," he said lowly, his thumb tracing the small mark on her hand. "I've tripled the guards on the moat. No one could ever attack us again."

She smiled as he threw Rubeus a venomous look. "I know, Zoicite."

That night Serena sat on her balcony, breathing in the cool air flavored with wisteria and orchids. She looked out over the edge of the garden and courtyard, watching the pools' waters wink in the lone moon's light as a strange contentedness engulfed her. It was an odd sensation, as if she had performed a penance unknowingly.

At the same time, an overwhelming sadness claimed her soul, and she knew its origin. Despite the comfort of obeying her father's will, she also knew she had made a terrible, life-long mistake. She couldn't live with Zoicite, not when she knew he had forsaken her and held so many in bondage. But she couldn't go back to Izramuth, either. Other courses had presented themselves to her mind, but they, too, would be laboriously long and could easily fail.

She considered sending a letter to her father, explaining Zoicite Maeyen's true nature, but even that would take months, and she would be married by then. It had occurred to her also to run away, but she had no place to go. With a heavy heart she recalled Darien's remark when they parted that night. The _Nor_ would be in port for a few days, and he had invited her to return if she wanted to go back to Izramuth. It mattered not that she had never heard the name of the port; every moment of the long ride on the trade road was embedded in her memory. She had often contrasted the ride home with her first, terrifying journey with him.

There was more on Serena's mind than a marriage she loathed. She sighed, curling against the balcony balusters, looking out over the estate yard. She missed Darien. The past few days she had tried to tell herself she longed for the sea, the sense of freedom on the waters. She even admitted her attachment rose out of needing him for those few weeks.

The _Eliana Nor_ was Darien's world, and he supplied her every need. The clothes, food, bed, even protection - all were provided by him. It was only natural she would feel an attachment to him.

But this was no mere gratitude she felt, and Serena knew it. Zoicite had met all her needs for two years, since Methuen's death, and never had she felt the affection she did now. From under her skirt she pulled the black cat and loosened its satin cord. The glow of the one moon brought a meek luster to the game piece when she turned it in her hands. She would not fool herself into thinking Darien returned her love.

She smiled at the thought. She hadn't put those words together until now, not dared to think it. Love. There had been a time when she didn't think the word would ever be connected with her.

Her smile faded as she sighed. No. He didn't love her, she rationalized, but Darien did exhibit an affection for her that Zoicite did not. How unnatural that a pirate showed her more attention than her promised husband.

She sagged against the balusters, her mind drifting far from the valley. She wondered if Darien shared other companionship in port as he waited for the crewmen to return. Even tonight he may have found some fair haired, perfumed woman, his lips warm on hers, his arms encompassing her body.

Serena closed her eyes, bringing to memory the night in Cold Rock she had briefly been in his arms, strong arms that were tight around her, possessively but not demanding. She shook her head, sighing.

She looked across the yards to where the woods edged. Darien would forget a simple kiss, only a few moments of a captive's lowered defenses. A pout pulled heavily at her lips.

But she would not forget, or forgive herself for not letting him create a greater memory.


	17. Chapter 17

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Seventeen**

Darien stood scowling at the _Eliana Nor's_ bow the next evening, watching the crewmembers Elgin and Laris wade through the thick traffic. They were alone, as the other four crewmen had been when they returned from tracking the slave trails from the Lusson mine. As they grew nearer, his hope soured into a vengeance that was not entirely a result of Joshan's absence.

When the crewmen met him it was the same story. The trail had ended at an old Maeyen mine, and, after careful bribery, they learned Joshan Montaro was not among the boys chained together. Only two more crewmen were due to return. They had followed the most worn trail heading south.

To Ibereth, Darien suspected. He had little confidence Maeyen would allow Joshan to be transported to a mine the pirate knew well. Surely Zoicite was not that foolish. And he knew if Joshan was not found at any of the mines it was because he was dead.

Darien gave the two loyal men a small bag of silver pieces each and they set back out into town to seek other comforts. He watched them go, but had no wish to indulge himself as they did.

He sat on the quarterdeck's short stair, looking out over the village without seeing it. For four months he had tried and failed to achieve his brother's release. The time was coming for a more direct approach.

"I'm sorry, mother," he said in defeat.

In all honesty, he had to admit he hardly knew his younger sibling. Joshan was born while he had been enslaved in the belly of the Ibereth mine, and the boy was a toddler the first time he did lay eyes on him.

But what Darien recalled most, with unwavering clarity, was his mother's ceaseless grief when she told him her suspicions about Joshan's disappearance six months ago. Only too well her words echoed in his head at night since then, accompanied by Ami's desperate prayers for their brother's safe return, and Raye's vow to remain unmarried until her younger brother's return.

Darien smiled as he recalled his widowed mother's delight at his own return. After four years in the mines and another three sailing with Captain Dell, she had given him up for dead. When Darien docked late that sunny afternoon in Trislen and walked through the modest town he had once called home, she spotted him immediately from the herb garden. He remembered it so well because she had let her youngest son fall as her arms opened wide to him. She had actually dropped poor Joshan. Her thins arms had come around Darien's neck with a suffocating strength as he stooped to pick up the whimpering child. Her body had seemed so frail, so twig-like to emit such an embrace.

Darien's face hardened as his thoughts returned to the present. He wanted to see that distant reunion again, from a different angle. Maeyen should consider himself fortunate that Darien only asked for the release of one slave rather than the entire labor force. That demand wouldn't have worked, either, he knew. If Maeyen would not even part with one slave, he would never relinquish the whole lot.

He had entertained the thought of bringing the Maeyen slave practice to King Thulgarde's attention if Zoicite wouldn't give up Joshan, but the notion died as quickly. Should Zoicite go on trial for the crime, it would be Serena's future that he also ruined. At least as a widow she would inherit the mines, and he didn't doubt she would replace the slaves with paid labor.

Memories of her sapphire eyes haunted Darien daily, her presence lingering in the bed when he slept in it. He wondered about her homecoming and rebuked himself for letting her return to the Maeyen estate at all. She belonged home, with her understanding father and mother. He had contemplated stealing her again and forcibly returning her to Izramuth.

But, no.

She had left him with a sad smile, and he did not want to change that to hostility.

Perhaps in the future there would be an opportunity to see her again, after Maeyen's demise, and her proper grieving had passed. Darien smiled only briefly at the last hope.

No, again.

She would move in a different realm that did not welcome pirates, despite a one-time commonness. Serena would be well out of reach.

_No_, he thought with a sigh, looking out over the portside street; it was best to see what came of this business with Maeyen and Joshan, to see its end, and steer clear of these ports altogether in the future.

Zoicite halted his horse at the corner of the maze hedges when he saw Serena in the garden. He studied her, frowning as she sat at the edge of the shallow pool. He was aware of the sun's golden light on her hair, of the deep green silk frock folding around her as she moved on the mosaic patio.

What he observed most, however, was not evident to an unaided eye. Rubeus was right; the tranquil, trusting butterfly had turned into something else, and he couldn't diagnose exactly what she had become. Of course, changes were expected - even necessary - for Serena to have survived her ordeal of the last few weeks.

What resulted because of the nightmare she had been through didn't entirely displease Zoicite. The combination of surety, resiliency and a touch of boldness in her was appealing. Rubeus didn't like the alteration, but the advisor was an immutable, strict man who preferred complete order and predictability in women.

Serena was no longer that.

He recalled meeting Montaro in Leneau, and how Serena had suddenly seemed so fragile, so utterly delicate beside the pirate that day. Her trusting face, her eyes pleading with him to meet Montaro's demands. Zoicite refused to think more on that day. He had seen similar desperation in the young slaves who worked the mines, and he had no stomach for the tenderness when it leased the features of his future wife.

He brought his horse to the edge of the garden and dismounted, handing the reins to a servant who hurried to meet him.

Serena watched Zoicite approach, measuring his stride and bearing. The last few days she had found herself comparing her affianced husband to Darien, and decided Zoicite was lacking in areas other than devotion. He was a handsome man. His fair hair and eyes complimented a pleasing face, but these same eyes belied a detached, marble-heartedness she could not tolerate.

Her smile came automatically, well-rehearsed of late, as he took her hand and brought her under the porcelain tiled porch. She sat across from him as he summoned another servant and made his request.

"You don't mind playing a game, do you?" he asked as the servant left.

This time Serena's smile was genuine and he returned her expression. "I want the lion."

"Consider him yours."

The servant returned with the game board and pieces and Serena set them up. Zoicite watched her, discovering a comeliness about her he didn't remember. She'd always been a pretty child, ever since she'd first arrived at the Maeyen household, but now he realized she had developed into a beautiful young woman.

Her hands moved quickly over the ivory and sardonyx inlaid board, arranging the bright red-orange carnelian pieces. The silk dress fit her well, emphasizing her figure with dark violet braids at the neckline and hem. The plum lace shawl at her shoulders was trimmed in amethyst and silver beads, bringing a coolness to her warm, soft skin. His eyes returned to her face as she looked up from the game.

Zoicite wondered how a pirate could let such a woman remain untouched while in his care.

Just as they were about to begin the game, Rubeus appeared in the parlor doorway and beckoned to Zoicite. He excused himself to Serena and met the advisor. She didn't have to strain to hear their conversation; the muted voices were just loud enough to carry onto the patio.

A small twist came to her lips as Rubeus told Zoicite a guard had returned from Cataduke with two blue-eyed, blonde women he'd bought at a port auction who matched Serena's description. She kept her attention on the board, curious at whether Zoicite would tell her outright of the women if she pretended ignorance of their discussion. They were going through a lot of trouble to create a charade for her benefit.

"Have you heard from the _Gorzai Queen_ yet?" Zoicite's voice was louder now from the patio with authentic concern. "She should have come in weeks ago."

"No word on her. I'm thinking she's gone the way of the _Ten Bells_," Rubeus said with distaste. "Montaro was responsible for that loss."

"I remember. We'll give her another week. The Nyan collection is on that vessel."

Serena curbed her insolent thoughts as Zoicite returned to the game. _He cares more for that load of tempered steel than he does for me,_ she thought, setting her grimace. Darien's promise of her widowhood was beginning to look very attractive.

"What will you do with them?" she asked, moving her owl one space.

Zoicite watched her take her move. "Who?"

"The slave women from Cataduke. The ones you thought might be me."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe offer them an indenturement." He moved his elephant only to have it taken by her jackal.

Her bare feet found a tile still warm from the receding sun. "I didn't know the mines were run by slave labor," she said levelly.

Zoicite's eyes flicked to her, and he chuckled uneasily. "Does that bother you?"

She shrugged non-committally. "I thought it was illegal in this country."

"It is."

"Doesn't it compromise your allegiance to King Thulgarde?"

He laughed, his carnelian horse falling prey to her turtle. "What a political head you've grown, dear. King Thulgarde would overlook my business, if he knew."

Even without looking at him she sensed his rapt attention on her. She had called out his guard and recognized this as a mistake. "I'm sorry I had to trade my ring, Zoicite," she said with forced expiation.

"I'm glad you used it as you did," he assured her. "I'm having another made. It should be done today or tomorrow."

She smiled as another thought crossed her mind. She could commission a replica of the necklaces Darien had given her, and then hide them and wear the real ones, right before Zoicite's eyes. "Is it possible I could have a few pieces of jewelry made?"

"Of course. I'll have the jeweler ask for your requests when he brings the ring." He took her bear off the board. "Your defense is weakening, dear."

"I never was good at this." She made another move she knew would result in losing the piece.

"When Montaro attacked those vessels when you were onboard," Zoicite began testily, studying her examination of the board, "do you know if he sacked the _Gorzai Queen?"_

She allowed a small frown, enjoying his expectation. This question she had anticipated. "I never heard any names of the ships. He did threaten to torch any Maeyen ship he came across," she recalled truthfully. "But I thought that was just a braggart's hope."

He shook his head and moved a turtle across from her bull. "No. He was quite serious about that. I've lost the _Northern Hoshi_ and the _Ten Bells_ already, and I believe the _Queen_ has fallen victim too."

Serena let an exaggerated pout come to her lips. "But my wedding dress is on that ship."

He reached for her hand. "We'll have a new one made. Fittings will begin tomorrow. Just in case."

"Thank you, Zoicite."

Serena let him win that game, and the next. Zoicite was not the challenging opponent she remembered and she wondered if it was his strategy or hers that had changed. True to his word, the carnelian and onyx ring with the Maeyen signet was delivered the next day. She expressed the appropriate gratitude although the sight of the device made her think of Brons.

When the jeweler understood that Serena's jewelry designs were not to include carnelian, he refused to take her requests. This brought Zoicite into the drawing room, who was consumed with worry over the Nyan weapons on the _Gorzai Queen_. He listened to the jeweler's complaint, but his eyes were on his future wife.

"I thought you liked carnelian, dear," he said to her, waving the craftsman aside. He brushed the hair from Serena's shoulders, not noticing her slight flinch at his touch. "What did you have in mind?"

She glanced momentarily at the jeweler and then slowly at Zoicite. "I do like carnelian," she insisted despite the repulsion she felt, "but I don't always wear colors to compliment it." She had seen the way looked at her since her return and found a certain command in the attention. She let the lilac jacquard skirt fall slowly through her fingers, then touched the silk embroidered décolleté neckline of the dress covered by a modesty scarf.

"Carnelian would contrast sharply with this," she said simply, forcing a demure smile. "And the other dresses, the greens and blues. They need something different."

Zoicite's eyes rose from the scarf. "Such as?"

"Beryl. Or topaz. Peridot. Even garnet to match the sweet grape gauze for - well, for the lingerie cote that's being made." She felt a blush rise over her face, but it was connected to another dressing cote.

A slow grin leased his features. "You would wear jewelry to bed?"

"Perhaps something simple." She tried to keep the blush from fading too quickly. "You don't think it appropriate?"

Zoicite kept his eyes on her face, aware of the jeweler's presence. He bowed and kissed her hand lightly. "I think it very appropriate." His smile dimmed as he turned to the craftsman. "Take her requests, and don't ever bother me with such absurdity."

Serena watched Zoicite leave and faced the jeweler with an icy stare as the drawing room doors closed. "If you ever go squealing to my husband again, I'll see that you never cut another stone for this family."

Fittings for the wedding gown were the most laborious sessions, surpassing the earlier tedious occasions by far. Serena turned, held her breath, raised her arms, and was pinned four times before calling the fitting to a close. The seamstress and her attendants took their leave hastily as Serena pulled on her day dress. The weather was the coolest since she had come back to the valley, but even so it did not compare with the cold, breezy days on the _Nor_ near Cataduke.

She steered her thoughts from those memories, knowing they would only beget more misery and resentment. Also bothering her was that she may no longer have the option of following up on Darien's offer to come back to the port. Surely the _Nor_ had sailed by now. Perhaps he planned to meet the men he dispatched from Cold Rock father south, if the trail did indeed lead to Ibereth. She shook her head. Even if one group of slaves had been taken to the collapsed mine, Darien had no way of knowing that until the trackers had returned. He would have to stay in port.

It was in this fuming frame of mind that Serena passed Zoicite's private parlor early that evening and overheard Rubeus' voice. She paused, sinking into the tapestry that hung beside the arched window.

"He's being held at the west gatehouse now," the advisor said without trying to conceal his words.

"I want him killed immediately," came Zoicite's irate tone.

"Now, Zoicite, if we kill him we have nothing with which to bargain should Montaro attack again."

Serena's thoughts froze as she realized of whom Rubeus spoke. _So Joshan was alive!_

"You don't think we're under attack now?" Zoicite shot back. "I received word today on the _Gorzai Queen._ A passing ship from Cataduke spotted her scorched figurehead among other flotsam a day from Port Nokdane. That marks three of my best ships, Rubeus. If I knew where Montaro was now I'd send him the boy's head!"

Serena cringed at the words but remained silent.

"I think it best to keep the boy alive," Rubeus persisted. "If he—"

"I invite his attack," Zoicite said thickly. "Have done with this once and for all. I listened to you last time and gave up my wife, and she survived on her own. Imagine what she thinks of me? How can I rule this house when my wife has outwitted a pirate I shrank from?"

"It was to save your fortune," she heard Rubeus remind.

"It was wrong. If she knew the truth ..."

For a long moment Serena heard nothing and she feared they knew of her presence. Then Zoicite added: "I want the boy killed. It's the least to be done in deference to Serena. Ease the perimeter guards and increase the immediate grounds security. Montaro can get in, but he won't get out alive this time. If he wants to meet again, it will be for revenge only, seeing how his hostage has slipped away, and that will make him reckless."

"That's a small advantage," Rubeus opined, "considering the state of the house after his last visit."

"I am not my uncle, Rubeus," Zoicite said in a tight voice she had never before heard him use, "and you are under orders to _me_. See to the boy's death. This we do my way."

Serena sprinted down the opposite hall as he said it. _How dare Zoicite kill Joshan in my name!_

She supposed he thought it a gallant idea. She went to her rooms, news of the imminent murder making the blood run cold through her veins as she paced the floor. Joshan was indeed alive, but not for long. She put a hand to her head as a maid tapped on the door and came in.

"Dey Serena, are you ill?" the girl asked cautiously.

Serena licked her lips, keeping her breathing steady. "Yes. Yes, I don't feel well." She sat slowly on the bed to think.

"Master Zoicite asked that you come to the parlor," the maid reported, her frown deepening. "Should I tell him you're ill?"

"Yes. Tell him, tell him to please excuse me for the evening."

"You should lay down, Dey Serena."

"Yes, yes," Serena said quickly, feeling the precious moments passing. "Please, I'll see to myself. Thank you." She waved the girl away.

When the door closed, Serena went to the balcony and appraised the ivy-laden trellis that covered the three stories. It was indeed a long way down. She looked at the sinking western sun and went to her closet. No sooner had she found the burgundy riding cape than Zoicite called to her from the hall.

She scurried to the bed and pushed the cape beneath it, then crawled into the sheets. She pulled the canopy curtains with a swift yank. "Yes?"

Zoicite came in and closed the door behind him, peeking behind the curtain. "Dear, the maid said you were ill." He rounded the bed and took her hand. "You're pale. And shaking."

Her fingers tightened on his. "I think I sat too long in the sun yesterday."

He brushed her cheek softly. "You're not feverish."

"I felt faint during the fitting this afternoon," she said hopefully. "I swear, that seamstress poisons her pins."

"Yes. Well, just rest, dear." He squeezed her hand. "I'll entertain Ros Domici for dinner."

Her face registered a sudden recollection. "Oh, I forgot he was coming tonight."

"He only just arrived. He'll be here until the wedding, so there will be other chances to bore you with war stories," Zoicite promised. "I'll have a tray sent up."

"No. I, I don't care to eat," she said with a limp smile. "I just want to sleep."

"As you wish." He kissed her forehead, his hand on her cheek. "Sleep well, dear." He lowered the lamp wick on her bed stand.

"Thank you." She sank into the sheets as he left and waited for his footsteps to fade down the marble gone. Satisfied he was gone, she leaped out of bed and donned the cape.

Five minutes later Serena took the gray horse into the dark woods at a pace far too fast for the thick trees, but her haste was justified. She urged the horse on quicker, pulling the cape hood tight around her head with one hand, but it was not out of vanity. She wouldn't be able to explain to Zoicite the next morning the small, stinging scratches from the tree branches.

She knew Rubeus wouldn't take Zoicite's orders to the gatehouse personally. He would want to be present for Ros Domici's mind-numbing account of nearly every aspect of Embrosse's military history. A messenger would be sent with the order, and he would take the longer path by the moat. Her course was shorter, but also fraught with trees, fallen logs and boulders.

As she topped the slope, Serena could see another figure moving along the moat path. She took a deep breath and sent her horse hurriedly down the grade. She had developed very little plan of action. She carried no weapon, and doubted any of the guards positioned at such a remote station would recognize her as mistress of the house. Perhaps that was an advantage. On impulse, she pulled off the family signet ring and tucked it into her boot.

When she arrived at the slope above the circular stone gatehouse, her heart sank. The figure on horseback was moving back down the path to the main house, his orders delivered. She wasn't sure if this was good or bad. Bribery was inevitable, and at least now she need not bribe the messenger, also.

As she picked her way through the trees to the gatehouse, Serena heard a stunted cry. She heeled the gray into a short gallop and reined him in abruptly as they reached the house. She was off his bare back before the horse stopped and pounded loudly on the heavy door. It opened after a brief pause and a burly man's eyes narrowed when he saw her.

"Gilreath isn't working this shift," he barked. "Come back tomorrow."

Serena wedged herself in the doorway as he tried to shut it. She squeezed through, confronting his look of disbelief. "I came to make a deal with you."

The man adjusted his coarse jerkin, his eyes falling slowly over what he could see of her form beneath the cape. "What do I have that you want?"

She pulled the hood closer to her face and looked around the small circular room. Beside a well-stocked case of liquor stood a boy, one arm cradled to his chest. She easily recognized a familiarity in the youth's dark hair and deep blue eyes. He returned her stare with one of confusion and fear.

Here stood her ransom.

"I want him."

"Him?" The man laughed and her nose wrinkled at the stench of stagnant ale. "He's only a boy. Now," he said stepping toward her with a wobble, "you want a _man_ for your needs, girl."

She stood her ground, refusing to show her growing fear. "What I need is that boy."

"He's got a bum arm," the man added, throwing the boy a dark look. He belched loudly and grabbed the back of a nearby chair to steady his stance. "Make a poor slave."

She wondered if all the gatehouses were so _well_ guarded. She reached into her boot where she had tucked the necklaces and black amber cat before the rough ride. She drew up the strands of lapis and emerald.

"You look like a man who knows his rocks, and I'm not talking about carnelian. I didn't say you had to give him to me. I can pay," she told him, watching his eyes follow the swinging gems. "You were going to kill him anyway."

His hand went to the necklaces, but Serena retracted them.

"Is it a deal?"

His eyes narrowed again, but opened wider then the gems caught the lamp light. "That's a healthy price for an imp of a boy."

Serena smiled. "You let down the drawbridge long enough for us to cross - and keep this between us - and we'll call it even."

The man laughed. "Deal."

"But," she added, her smile dissolving, "you take this one now." She put the strand of lapis in his gnarled hand, holding the emerald necklace back. "And this one when we reach the other side."

He considered this only for a moment. "But be quick."

She nodded, then halted the man as he reached for the boy. "I don't want him tied."

"He's a runner."

"I'll catch him."

The man shrugged, the lapis beads tight in his fist. "Your loss, girl."

Serena and Joshan crossed the bridge swiftly beneath the clear moons and she tossed the guard her cherished emeralds, then wheeled the horse to the opposing woods. When she was convinced they were out of sight, she slowed to a halt and made the boy in front of her turn. He looked at her with the same controlled fear she had seen in the gatehouse.

She smiled, hoping to set him at ease, and looked to his arm. "Did he break it?" she asked gently.

He nodded, his curiosity increasing. "Who are you?"

"I think I should ask who you are."

"Joshan. Joshan Montaro."

Serena's smile widened as a feeling of accomplishment swept through her. "Your brother has been looking for you." She untied the rope that still dangled form his good wrist and pulled the horse under a low hanging willow tree. With a mild curse, she plucked off a few dead limbs and stripped the short branches.

"My brother?" Joshan asked in disbelief.

"Yes. You didn't think he would come looking for you?" She saw the boy smile in the moons' light as she made a splint and tied his tender arm with the dangling rope.

"Darien."

"That's the one." She sighed, considering the hasty bandage job.

"He's a pirate," he said importantly, fascination tinting his voice.

"I know." Her smile set grimly and she pulled his sleeve up to reveal a scar bearing Zoicite's cross and double arrow on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Joshan."

He looked from the mark on his arm to her. "How do you know Darien?"

Her fingers softly traced the scar before pulling down his sleeve. She laughed at his query and turned the horse west to intercept the trade road beyond the forest. "You can ask _him_ that one."

The road leading to the coast cut across vast meadows dividing a few crops and herds of sheep and goats. Serena and Joshan saw none of these animals now, however, as they were all secure in folds for the night. The gray horse's hooves pounded over the beaten grass roadway, a muted sound in the still, starry night.

Serena had many questions for Joshan, but she asked none. The ride was rough, and even with the broken arm bound she was sure Darien would have to reset it. Not only was the jostling ride prominent on her mind. She was more concerned whether the _Eliana Nor_ would even still be in port. If it wasn't there she didn't know what she would do with Joshan. She doubted anyone at the docks would know the _Nor's_ next docking.

Another worry was her own return home. There was no reason for her maids or Zoicite to visit her room, but if her absence was discovered, she would have much explaining to do. That was even if she made it home. The gelding was a fine horse. Zoicite knew choice weapons and good horseflesh, she admitted, but the road she took was long. The gray's stamina would be tested to its limits tonight, and perhaps past. It was a regrettable thought to Serena, but she considered the loss of a good horse well worth the boy's life.

Also on her mind was seeing Darien again. It had been hard enough to walk away from him that night in the trees, even with her preoccupation of returning home. This time would only be worse. She would not let herself think about his offer to take her to Izramuth. It would take very little to sway her into a voyage home.

Another notion leaped to her mind. If Joshan was released, Darien would no longer have reason to persecute the Maeyen family. She may not be a widow so soon. With that realization Serena felt a weighty disappointment. She had actually begun to anticipate Zoicite's demise. It would end the torturous Maeyen tradition and give freedom to so many. She'd have to find a way to free the slaves herself. The few options she had demanded time, and could fail if she had even one misstep in her plans.

And she could only attempt them as Zoicite's wife. She had no proof the Maeyen slavery. Only her word.

She looked to the boy seated in front of her as they rode. Joshan was the only tangible proof she had, but she had no intention of using him. Returning him to Darien was her only priority at the moment. She'd find a way to freedom for the other slaves in the future.

Somehow.

She turned the gelding off the road toward Port Tel Vale without knowing the town's name. She knew it to be the right port because it was the first community they encountered and she recalled seeing none on their ride to the valley that day. The air was seasoned with smells of sea salt, fish and pitchblende, smells she knew to accompany a port.

She let the horse slow to a walk, patting his damp neck and speaking lowly to him. In the light of the high moons she could see Joshan's anxious face. It struck her hard that the boy was indeed that, a boy, snatched from his home two years ago and thrown into a life of brutal slavery. She couldn't even begin to imagine his mother's agony during the last few years. _And not only that_, she thought suddenly. The ordeal, for Joshan's mother, had started with Darien as a youth being ripped away from his childhood. An encompassing guilt washed over her as she thought of the Maeyen irresponsibility. Her sole act of kindness tonight did little to redeem her own conscience.

Serena turned the horse onto the deserted main street through town, her heart fast against her chest as she drew near the docks. She decided not to go with Joshan to the _Nor_; she couldn't bear to see Darien again, and leave. Also, he may not be alone, and she couldn't tolerate the sight of another woman on his deck. Joshan fidgeted a bit, and she realized her arm was crooked tightly over his splint. She smiled and murmured an apology.

She halted the gray at the empty pier end, her eyes moving over the five ships moored there. The _Eliana Nor_ bobbed gently in the tide swells, bringing a relieved sigh to Serena's shoulders. Joshan's head eclipsed her view as he moved for a better look.

"The _Nor_ is the last one on the left," she said. "You better take a couple rocks to throw. Let them know you're coming. This is not a ship you want to sneak up on."

The boy frowned at her. "You're not coming with me?"

"No," she said as he slid to the ground. "I have a long ride back."

Joshan looked down the long dock, an eager smile on his weary face. "But I should tell him you're here," he explained, looking up at her. "He'll pay you for the -"

"I didn't do this to be paid back, Joshan," she said quickly, her voice wavering. "Get going now."

In his grin she saw a shadow of Darien, making her heart melt anew. "Thank you, lady." He turned to the dock, collecting a few rocks as he went.

Serena watched him go, the night seeming to lighten as the boy's feet moved faster over the rough planks. When he halted at the _Nor_ she felt an apprehension for him, her pulse skipping quicker, hearing the first rock _clunk_ off the cabin wall. Joshan waited a moment, then threw another rock. The cabin door opened as it hit.

Serena's fingers tightened on the reins as she recognized Darien, his attention on the boy on the pier. The stones dropped from Joshan's hand. Darien met him on the gang plank quickly and hugged the boy with a consuming embrace.

The movement summoned tears to Serena's eyes as she watched, unable to look away for a long moment. With a great effort, she pulled the gelding around rapidly. She took him across the clay streets swiftly, the echo of his hooves loud in her ears, weaving through and out of the sleeping town. A thick opaque darkness had spread across the meadow nearby, the moons blocked by a stray cloud.

At the trade road outside the village limits Serena let the horse have his head, urging him faster, the tears filling her eyes making her vision too blurry to see. In complete brokenness she buried her face in the long silver-gray mane, and let the gelding find his own way on the road, letting him run where he may.


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you all for reading. I wish Mockingbird Julia could see how much amazing feedback she's gotten for her work.**

**Remember, this amazing story isn't mine!**

* * *

**Satin Hostage – Chapter Eighteen**

Zoicite entered the sunny sitting room where Serena was taking a leisure breakfast the next morning. At first she was oblivious to his presence, her eyes fastened on the tepid blue waters of the pool off the patio. She watched the bright sun shine like faceted aquamarine on the rippled water, a light breeze pushing soft swells to the alabaster edges. Her gaze dropped when she sensed Zoicite's nearness, then rose to his face as he came to her side.

"Goodmorning, dear," he greeted, settling into a chair at the wicker table. He leaned closer, turning her chin with his fingers. "You're eyes are puffy. Didn't you sleep well?"

She let a small, tired smile curve her lips as she braced herself at his touch. "I believe I slept too much," she told him. "I got soap powder in my eyes this morning. I thought I was going blind, it stung so."

"I'm sorry." His hand closed over hers on the table, unaware of the cringe that went through her at the touch. "Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid I have some bad news."

She quelled the assorted fears his words stirred. She forced a short laugh. "Don't tell me Ros Domici used up all his war stories last night. Whatever will we talk about at dinner this evening?"

He smiled at her humor. "No. His supply is inexhaustible. I'm talking about your horse, dear."

"My horse?" She sat straighter and frowned, her fingers tensing beneath his.

"Yes. I spoke with the head stableman earlier, and he said your gray is nearly lame. He found him limping and sweaty at daybreak. Just as he was opening the barns," he relayed.

"There's not a hole or gulley on the grounds," she said, studying his face closely for signs of suspicion.

"No. He was ridden to exhaustion and left out in the pasture," Zoicite explained, his mouth set grimly. "This has happened before. Two years ago. Twice the stableman caught a couple of the grooms racing the horses at night. They were dismissed without question, of course, but it looks like someone else thinks it a good sport to ruin fine horses."

Serena appraised him with hidden distaste. Zoicite had no problem ordering the murder of a helpless child, but gave much thought to a lame horse. But her mood was not entirely brooding. Knowing that she had beaten Zoicite - even without his knowledge - and that Joshan was free and safe gave a particular lift to her spirits, despite her own fatigue.

"You won't have him killed," she asked more than stated.

"No. Not yet. The stableman is tending him now." He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "He may pull through. I just wanted to warn you, in case he worsens."

"Thank you." She slipped her hand from his and took a drink of tea from the porcelain cup.

"I'm glad you're feeling better today." His gaze went out over the sprawling gardens, his bad news delivered.

She nodded. "Perhaps it was just the pitch of the seamstress' voice yesterday."

He grinned. "I have heard her, and I agree. Ros Domici commented on your absence last night. He sends his regards, but that won't get you out of becoming his audience tonight."

She nodded, watching his profile as he looked out over the yards. _He's a weak man,_ she thought. _Weak, yes, but still powerful and dangerous to many._

Serena spent most of the afternoon resting in her rooms, holding cold cloths to her eyes to alleviate the signs of crying. The slight swelling dissipated and she took a short nap, but Darien's face invaded her dreams. It was a pleasant intrusion, she deemed, but it left her weepy again when she woke. With a superhuman effort, she didn't submit to tears this time, but wiped them away quickly, knowing her eyes would tell the tale. She was certain Zoicite would not be so easily fooled again. Instead she only let herself recall the more welcome memories onboard the Nor.

She drew the enameled brush slowly through her hair, smiling at the image in her mind as she sat in her rooms that afternoon. She missed the gentle roll of the ship, the call of the gulls, even the smell of lye when the deck was mopped. For a moment she thought back on the night she had stitched Darien's arm, of how vulnerable he looked as he lay sleeping and injured on the bed.

Her pulse stirred faster. When he kissed her that night in Cold Rock it had been so tender, so natural. And so unlike a pirate not to demand more of her than she was willing to give.

"Dey Serena?" the maid said again.

Serena's fond reminiscence vanished as she pulled her mind back to the room. She swallowed the suffocating lump that welled in her throat.

"Yes?"

"Master Zoicite is asking for you. It's time for dinner."

"Thank you."

Serena sat to the side of Zoicite during the long meal. The table was set with the most exquisite of lace cloths, its fringed edges weighted with tiny pearls and carnelian beads. The silver flatware shone in the gold chandelier and copper floor candelabra with a sparkle that verged on distraction. The eight courses were served on elegant gold plates etched and inset with onyx, jade, lapis and the mandatory red carnelian.

The deep blue of the lapis held Serena's attention as Ros Domici expelled yet another tedious, if accurate, account of an Embrossen war. She looked up hastily as she felt Zoicite's eyes on her.

"But she's feeling much better now," he said, his hand tight on hers.

"Yes," she said with a fleeting smile. Serena gathered her composure and resigned to play her best as hostess to the older, portly Embrosse visitor. She toasted him silently.

"You are indeed fortunate," Domici determined, his jowls shaking comically as he nodded. He was an important man in the country, second only in wealth to the Maeyen family in the Valley, and his presence was requested at every genteel estate in Embrosse. He raised his own goblet in answer. "An ailment as resolute as yours has taken far stronger souls to their tombs, and in shorter time."

Serena thought it odd he would think her skipping the previous dinner so serious. "I dare say an afternoon is not an incredible duration."

Domici's faded blue eyes opened wider and he laughed heartily. "I don't refer to your illness yesterday, my dear girl. I was speaking of the affliction that postponed your wedding several weeks ago. Now, surviving a malady of that sort is an accomplishment. It takes a stout constitution to win _that_ sort of battle."

She felt Zoicite's hand on hers. His expression wordlessly requested an indulgence from her. Across the table Rubeus had stopped eating, watching her.

"You look well for the recuperation," Domici continued, his attention now on his plate rather than the glances exchanged between his host and hostess.

"Thank you," she said, bemused. Her mind swiftly proposed a theory from the older gentleman's comment. She had been so preoccupied convincing Zoicite and Rubeus of her escape from the _Eliana Nor_ and seeing to Joshan's safety that she didn't demand a more thorough excuse from Zoicite as to their postponed wedding. He had only told her he had explained her as ill, and she had left it at that.

_An illness was a good story,_ she admitted to herself as the maids brought out the last course of the meal. Guests would shy from a serious illness for their own health interests, and Zoicite could always claim her death by it, should the need arise.

The truth, that a pirate had devastated the estate and carried off a promised wife, would attract too much attention, and Darien's demands may reach the ears of King Thulgarde. Serena frowned. That was something Zoicite wanted to avoid, despite what he claimed.

Her interest returned to the table when Domici mentioned a term she recognized, and she glanced at Zoicite, then Rubeus.

"It's not my place to criticize," Domici said hurriedly as a maid refilled his goblet. "You do understand that, gentleman. War time demands strange and dire actions, and that is what I consider the aid of pirates to be."

Both Zoicite and Rubeus looked to Serena as the word was spoken, but she kept her eyes on the coconut and berry dessert before her. Zoicite shifted uncomfortably and took a long drink of sherry.

"Surely you don't mean pirates," Rubeus debated with an easy laugh. "Privateers, perhaps, but -"

"Privateers. Pirates. Whichever." Domici wiped his large mouth with a lace trimmed napkin. "If you absolve a pirate from piracy, but solicit him as a privateer for your own gain, he is still a pirate. Running up a false flag doesn't change the nature. The breed is still the same."

Neither Rubeus nor Zoicite responded to Domici's remark, but that didn't stop the man's discourse. "I personally don't condone the practice. It contradicts something of the moral nature, employing a criminal to fight side by side with loyal men. It gives the corsair an air of undeserving respectability. That's my point." He looked to Zoicite with a contended sigh. "What do you think?"

Serena's chin lifted, a controlled amusement on her face as she watched Zoicite.

"Well," he began, clearing his throat, "I believe there could be a certain caliber of pirate King Thulgarde may find employable during war time. Not the average cutthroat," he added, his hand twisting the crystal goblet's stem slowly. "Perhaps an ex-military man who had retired, and possessed the characteristics termed pirate by -"

"No, no," Domici interrupted rashly. "I could tolerate that kind of privateer. King Thulgarde took corsairs right off the blackest of waters - if not out of the prisons. Men like Caid Melchoir and Batn L'Duer, and Montaro and Amtin. This, this jetsam shouldn't be representing our king." He paused to sample the dessert. "Not Montaro, or Melchoir, found not guilty on several charges, but Batn L'Duer - just out of prison - with suspended stays."

Serena had seen both Zoicite and Rubeus look to her when Domici said it, but she held back her smile. She sipped her sherry as Zoicite could take the topic no longer.

"Shall we move to the parlor?" he suggested, taking her hand.

Once there, she avoided his touch, letting the men congregate at the wide marble hearth with their own talk. If she couldn't bare his flesh on hers now, she asked herself, how would she endure the far more intimate contact that was promised later? She looked down at the watery sherry she held. She would need quite a lot of this in the future.

The rest of the evening had passed without further mention of Darien or pirates in general. Serena took her obligatory place at Zoicite's arm after a while, a purely mechanical move that she hoped would demand little contact. When Rubeus was occupying Domici in conversation, Zoicite attempted to apologize to her for fabricating the story about her being ill, but she waved away his excuse. She claimed he had only done what he believed necessary, that she did not blame him in the least. The words seemed to stick in her throat.

Serena's low tone edged on contempt, but she kept from crossing that tenuous, unmarked line. Even more, she had enjoyed Zoicite's thinly concealed distress when he tried to discredit Darien as serving Kind Thulgarde in any manner.

"Domici is confused," he'd told her.

Surely he had not meant _Darien Montaro_, not the brute who had terrorized her. Serena wanted to voice that, while he was long-winded, Domici was also accurate in his military recounts, but she refrained.

She had pretended to let him pacify her in that belief, had smiled engagingly at the right instances, and excused herself to her rooms at the first opportune moment. After a very brief bath she sat at the desk in her private parlor to continue an ambition she had given thought earlier that week.

The ivory and gold stylus in her hand poised over the parchment, its indigo ink collecting at the tip as she hesitated. To approach King Thulgarde directly with Zoicite's crime of slavery was a threat to her own future. An accusation by her hand would be considered more thoroughly than any allegation a pirate could make, and it was that consequence that made her pause.

She blotted the pen before it dripped and pondered the parchment again. If Zoicite suspected her unfaithful but true charges she would be removed as any other burr in the cold-hearted Maeyen skin.

"It's not time yet," she reasoned, murmuring lowly to herself. "Better to wait until Zoicite was called to court in his capacity as advisor, where I'll have the protection of my fellow countrymen and King Thulgarde." She sighed, closing her eyes briefly in despair. "After I marry."

She opened her eyes and put the stylus down slowly. With such a charge presented in person, King Thulgarde must offer her a protective immunity until the mines were investigated. It would be a swifter trial under her accusation than by one made by Darien, she knew, and Zoicite would not have time to whisk the slaves from mine to mine as he had earlier.

She sat back in the brocade upholstered chair, hearing the maid add wood to the bed chamber fire to dry the damp chill in the night air. It would be so much easier if Darien had followed through with his fatal confrontation with Zoicite. She would be a widow, and that would settle so many matters. By returning Joshan she had extended her marriage to a natural end.

A smile crossed her face as she recalled the boy's eagerness that night. He would be going home after those long years in the mines. Even without the experience of motherhood herself, Serena could well-sympathize with the grief of losing a son - two sons, in fact - to such a bitter life. They would be on their way home now, or at least soon, after all Darien's men returned from trailing.

Few things in her life had given her as much satisfaction as helping Joshan that night, and she knew she would think the same even if she had been found out. It was worth the risk, and the loss of the coveted jewels.

And of the horse. She sighed, thinking of Zoicite's heavy words before supper when he told her the gray gelding had to be killed.

She knew it would happen. When they crossed the moat in the haze of the very early dawn she felt him stumble. A hoof twisted. He didn't go down, but his stride was shorter, and no longer gallant. The guard had changed at the gatehouse and she didn't have any recourse but to cross the moat on her own, at the narrowest spot she could find in the semi-light of the morning. She'd left him in the pasture, walking him for ten minutes as he cooled down, seeing his limp increase with every step until she let him alone.

The long ride had left her numb, both physically and emotionally, and she hoped the horse too was as dazed. She had made one final visit to his stall for a brief moment after lunch. She had whispered in his ear her thanks before the stableman had shown him mercy.

She went to the bedroom as the maid awaited further instructions, but Serena was oblivious to her. She had never run a horse to death, never demanded more heart than an animal had, and the feeling sickened her. She dismissed the maid, and sat alone on the embroidered bedspread. The ride had left her exhausted, a fatigue that didn't dissolve in the mere two hours of sleep before she had to rise and join Zoicite for breakfast that morning.

Now the weariness Serena had fought all day couldn't be ignored, or counted as melancholia from news about the horse's death. She took off the signet ring as she had every night since Zoicite had given it to her and put it on the dressing table. She could not bear to wear it any longer than absolutely necessary when she knew the mark was carved into Brons' and Joshan's arms.

She untied the amber cat from under her slip and smiled at its low shine in the moons' light. Some day, she promised it silently, she would not keep it tethered out of sight.

Zoicite insisted Serena select another horse immediately. They spent most of the next morning considering other mounts in the well-stocked stables, but she found none to fit her tastes. Zoicite took her answer without questions, promising her a more complete selection when the new horses arrived in two weeks.

After a brief and somewhat quiet luncheon with Ros Domici and Zoicite, Serena found herself again on the seamstress' stool. Her annoyance was not so easily piqued today, however, and she attributed it to the fitting's goal being for more casual dresses rather than her wedding gown.

She perched on the padded stool, arms outstretched as an attendant measured for the sweeping dagged sleeves of the thick satin chemise. She posed for surcotes and skirts, slips and a lace partlet, petticoats and two stiff velvet bodices. Recognizing her good fortune at Serena's rare mood, the dressmaker made the mistake of chatting a bit too blithely. With forced nerve Serena sat through the last position for an overdress, and gave the woman her leave.

She spent the afternoon before dinner playing Bull and Lion with Zoicite, beating him twice out of the three games they played. Ros Domici observed the games, commenting favorably on Serena's attack and strategy. She wanted to lead the older man into speaking more about the Messel War privateers to see Zoicite's discomfort, but could find no way to approach the subject without compromising herself. Zoicite, too, seemed wary of the man's conversation, as if fearing the topic may pop up unexpectedly.

Serena soaked long in the marble tub that night after dinner. Certain parts of her were still tender from the excruciating night ride with Joshan. She tried to turn her thoughts from the boy and Darien by pouring a new perfumed oil into the bath waters. The scent of rose spice blossomed as the oil mingled with the warm water, but it didn't succeed in replacing her memories of the night.

Perhaps she should heave went with him to see Darien just one last time. _Only briefly_, she assured herself, smiling. Just to the deck. She wouldn't have lingered. She sighed, imagining his pleased smile at seeing Joshan at last. It would be a far more pleasant memory than the sad reluctance he had expressed when they parted the night he brought her home to the valley.

Serena stood up, sending ripples through the tepid water that stirred the scent of rose spice again. No. She had been right to leave quickly that night at the dock. To hesitate even the slightest would have resulted in her own passage to Izramuth.

She dried off and pulled on the lavender sleeping slip, its silk especially cool after the bath. The lace pelisse was a couple shades darker, resulting in a startlingly attractive combination. She brushed her hair slowly until it was nearly dry, her mind still far from the valley.

She went to the balcony rail in the warm night. From it she could see the twinkling pool waters at the patio. For a moment she could even recall the salt air of the sea. For a moment everything from standing on the _Nor's_ bow came back to her with acute perception. She turned suddenly as the smell became too strong to be imagined.

"Darien," she breathed, smiling widely as he stepped out from the balcony shadows.

"Hello, Serena." He returned her smile. "You look well."

For a moment she only stared, the expression fixed on her face. "So do you," she finally said. "I can't believe you're here."

He laughed, a sound she had missed the past week. "I'm not going to hold you captive again, if that's what you're thinking."

"It wasn't." She looked warily into the bedroom and back at him. "You're taking a terrible chance, Darien."

He glanced into the room also, his eyes resting on the bed. His attention turned back to her. "You're not married yet."

"You can tell by looking at my room?" she asked suspiciously, watching his slow grin.

"No. I was here last night."

"You were not."

His eyes flicked over her pelisse with evident appreciation. "How else would I know you keep an amber cat under your skirts?"

She felt warm at the question, a blush settling on her cheeks. "You were watching. I was awake then," she said, her smile accusatory. "Why didn't you show yourself?"

"Not for the reasons you're thinking, dear Serena. I was beyond the garden. You were sleeping by the time I got here," he said, looking down at the guard crossing the patio. He stepped back into the shadows.

Serena pulled the pelisse tighter and moved to the opposite side of the balcony near him as the guard passed. "Where's your horse?"

"Eating roses off the garden gate trellis." He picked a curl from her shoulder, but didn't move closer. "You look surprised to see me."

"I thought you would have sailed by now," she said lowly, watching his fingers trail along her hair.

"Without thanking you?"

Her smile saddened. "I thought the past few weeks would only be a memory."

"One you'd care to keep?" he asked.

She only nodded, afraid what would come out if she opened her mouth. He returned her careful stare, trying to estimate the openness in her face. Her eyes dropped momentarily and when she looked at him this time he saw a raw candidness.

"You shouldn't be here, Darien. Zoicite has tripled the house guards. He even said he invites your return so he can kill you," she said.

"Call him, if you like."

Her eyes went to the cutlass at his belt. "You'd kill him."

He frowned, straightening. "That bothers you. Serena, did you return Joshan to spare your husband?"

A pout formed at her mouth. "Of course not."

He laughed at her stout refusal. "Not words of endearment from a loving wife," he accused.

"I am not his wife. Or lover." She lowered her voice. "You think I could love a man who cares more for a lame horse than a child's life?"

The amusement left his face. "Does he know you came—?"

"No. He'd – I don't know what he'd do if he knew." Serena sighed, feeling a warmth from him without contact. "Did you come to confront him tonight?"

"No. Only to see you." He looked into the room and back at her. "To thank you for that daring ride, Serena. I know it took all night and even more courage. Is that the lame horse you were talking about?"

"Yes."

"He doesn't suspect you?"

She shook her head and explained about Zoicite's story of the stable help. Darien nodded, eyeing again the curl that hung loose from the other tresses. Across the yard a whippoorwill's inquisitive call broke the still night.

"Why didn't you come down the dock with Joshan?"

She resisted the impulse to bite her lip. "I ... It was such a long ride home," she said, steadily holding his gaze. "And I had to get back by morning."

"It was a very brave gesture."

Her mouth hardened and the same seeped into her eyes, but her voice was not callous. "Because I freed one slave when there are so many still in the mines? I don't think so, Darien." She leaned back against the corner wall, a brooding expression leasing her features despite his presence. "I would have turned them all loose if ... when I ..." She shrugged, her thoughts turning inward. "There will be other ways."

"If what?" he pressed.

She smiled, but not pleasantly. "Well, I guess I won't be a widow so soon."

He stepped closer, searching her eyes. "I can still arrange that."

Her lip trembled until she frowned intently, but her eyes admitted an uncertainty. "I don't know what to do, Darien," she conceded with an exasperated sigh. "I was thinking I could approach King Thulgarde with the accusation, and -"

"No," he said firmly. "Zoicite would have you put away. You wouldn't have a chance."

"If I'm his wife they'll have to listen," she argued. "This is not a domestic issue of a disgruntled wife. A man who sits so close to King Thulgarde in council should adhere to the king's own commands. They'll have to at least investigate my claim."

Darien shook his head adamantly. "He won't sit back and let that happen, Serena. If you try -"

"I haven't figured it all out yet," she interrupted as his voice rose. "I'll find a way around Zoicite."

He chuckled, appraising her with a familiarity she remembered from the ship. "I told you a cornered cat was a dangerous animal."

"I thought I was a firefly," she said, the lilt slipping into her tone.

"No. Never anything so helpless. Your claws are showing even now." His smile dissolved and somberness came over him. "If you'd rather be a widow, Serena, I have other reasons to justify his death."

"I, I can't stand here and ask you to assassinate my husband," she said with a nervous, unamused laugh. "Even then I'd still have to marry him."

"I don't like the idea either, my dear." He took her hand in a warm clasp that made her pulse jump. "You don't have to. I didn't come here only to thank you for Joshan, Serena." He looked to her soft hand in his, then to her face. "Come back with me."

Serena's smile failed. "I can't go back to Izramuth. I told you –" His fingers touched her lips, quieting her words, then his hand moved to the nape of her neck.

She stood motionless, conscious only of his fingers embedded in her hair, and that he had come back. Her hand slid up his arm, the leather jerkin meeting her silk slip when he pulled her closer in an embrace that nearly brought her off her feet. This time she responded without hesitation when his lips met hers, eager for the taste of the fervent tenderness she remembered. She felt no disappointment, only a slow ebbing that spread warmly over her skin, making her cling tighter to him.

Darien kissed her lips for a long moment, the scent of the rose spice blending with the wisteria hanging over the balcony. He made her look at him, a smile hinting about his mouth. "I want you to come back with me. As my bride," he beckoned lowly. "I love you, Serena. I wanted to tell you the night you came back to the valley," he added, feeling her fingers trace the cording on his jerkin. "I won't always be a pirate, my dear."

"I don't care if you are," she said, content in his arms. She felt his lips in her hair as she leaned closer, her cheek against his shoulder. "I missed you so much this last week." She looked to him slowly. "I love you, too, Darien. Oh, I don't know what my father will think."

"We'll explain it very carefully," he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Izmaruthen weddings are beautiful. If you want to wait that long."

Her smile widened. "I don't."

"Good."

"But I can't leave those boys in the mines, Darien. I can't."

He nodded. "We have Joshan and Brons as witnesses. Do you think King Thulgarde would listen to you if they went along?"

Her mouth dropped open. "You'd risk going to Ridollin? As a pirate?"

He smiled, nodding. "Yes. If you're willing to go, so am I."

She sighed, nodding. "We'll do it."

He searched her face for a long moment. "Are you sure about this, Serena? What you're giving up here in the Valley, for -"

"I know exactly what I'm giving up."

He smiled and held her at arm's length, shaking his head at her attire. "Very nice, but not compatible with riding."

"I'll change."

Serena led him into the room, her hand tucked into his. He turned down the two lamplights and quietly bolted the door as she pulled the cape from under the bed. She hurriedly found the cotton chemise and bronze skirt in her closet. She slipped behind the gilt folding screen to change.

Darien grinned when she stepped out from behind it a moment later.

"You kept them?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid the maid didn't understand my attachment to them." She sat on the bench as anticipation crippled her fingers when she laced her boots. Darien knelt before her and halted her nervous hands. He finished the ties.

"Oh, wait," she said as he stood and held the riding cloak for her. She took the carnelian and onyx signet ring from off her dressing table and tucked it and the amber cat in her boot.

"Why do you need the ring?"

She smiled with satisfaction and slipped into the cape. "I'll take it to King Thulgarde with the confession about the Maeyen family."

At the edge of the slope forty-five minutes later, Darien made the gray horse pause, and watched Serena look back over the dark valley. Her eyes swept over the stretching estate, her home of the last six years. She settled against him with a sheltered, protected contentment. He kissed her ear lightly, his breath bringing a smile to her lips.

"You're not reconsidering your decision, are you, my love?"

She shook her head, feeling his arms move around her. "No. I'm so glad you came back, Darien."

"So am I."

* * *

**le fin.**


	19. Author's Note

Dear Readers,

Sadly, that was indeed the end of this story. I'm on board with all of you though; when I got to the end, I was just as disappointed by it. I thought there was going to be more too. It left a lot of questions unanswered and was a bit anti-climatic (in my opinion), but that was most likely Mockingbird Julia's intention. Perhaps she wanted to write a sequel detailing what happens to the slaves and Serena's father's reaction to her marriage to Darien, though never wrote it. However, since I am not the original author of this story, I do not feel that I have the right to author its sequel.

So it's up to your imagination of what happens to them because that is not a story I cannot tell.

Wishing there was a sequel too,

Lady Fyria


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